Oatmeal for breakfast and an early start. We emerge from Monroe subway station into a street shadowed on either side by skyscrapers. There’s an instant likeness to Manhattan, except here the elevated train – the L – rumbles off the ground and mirrored high rises elbow their neo-gothic neighbours. We enter the Chicago Art Institute and go our separate ways to explore this sprawling, perfect, gallery. The historian hiding inside me is excited by the collection of late-baroque furniture and tea sets from 18th century Philadelphia (thank you, Stephen Conway).
Lake Michigan spills away from the city to an undisturbed horizon. Obligatory photos at The Bean. The sun of the Millennium Park drains to shadows back among the roots of the metropolis. Incredible Chicago hot dogs for tea. At sunset we climb above everything, to the top of the John Hancock Tower. Twilight’s bruised purple turns to darkness and the city glows beside the empty expanse of the Lake. The night should have ended with Dixieland jazz at the Green Mill, but due to unforeseen circumstances (i.e. I completely forgot my ID), it did not. A train home alongside very disheartened Cubs fans.
To The Table 