It was the coldest day in a decade. I was on my way to the State of Illinois building to catch the train home. To get out of the weather, I took an underground detour through the station at State and Lake. As I descended the steps to the tunnel leading to the O'Hare/Congress line, I heard a splattering sound. At the foot of the stairs, a powerful stream of urine blocked my path like a tollgate. Its source was a homeless man casually relieving himself. The sight took me back to my Paris vacation faster than a cup of General Foods International Coffee.
Two young, fast-talking, yellow-jacketed traders waiting for the elevator at the Merc:
"When I'm at a bar and I have to wait more than two minutes for a beer, I'm out of there. It was the best thing that happened to me the other night though. The next place I went I met the greatest chick."
"What happened to Joanne?"
"Oh, I had to dump her a couple of weeks ago. She started acting like a wife, a beast of a wife."
"Hadn't you been living together a while?"
"Yeah, two years."
"That's too bad."
"Ah, but this new one's great."
"They all turn out the same."
"Not this one. I can tell she's gonna be different. She doesn't have any of that possessiveness shit like Joanne did. I could see it in her from the start."