Picture two man-sized boxes on a darkened corner.
One box is almost a shed, light-toned and covered in siding, like a home in one of the suburbs just a few blocks to the north. There’s a plaque on one side honoring a familial doyenne and a banner on the streetside paying tribute to a long-gone anniversary.
The other box was propped half open, like a grade-school diorama. A chest-high stack of newspapers on a stool fronts a spread of magazines ranging from local dining to muscle car to naked lady.
Approaching the second box brought a visitor from the first. A man sauntered out of the shed with an old Chicago Tribune newsboy apron cinched around his waist.
“This the place that’s been here like a hundred years?” I asked. » Read the rest of this entry «
