We sat on a rough cement ledge in the parking lot, slowly chewing candy.
Geographically, the lot looked more like it belonged to the walk-in clinic than the bakery. A large sign made of the corrugated plastic used on the yard signs of the candidates rich enough to win declared though that this was in fact for bakery.
Geographically, we looked in the wrong place too. Montclare is Chicago, but looks suburban — strip malls and multi-lane divided highways no kid could wander across without getting a faceful of semi-trailer. Just across the street and down a block, a liquor store awning trumpeted the wares inside as the first stop free of City of Chicago taxes. We were on the border of the rest of the world, thoughtfully munching Kinder Bueno. » Read the rest of this entry «
