There are two Chicagos.
Maybe three.
They exist at completely different Cartesian coordinates.
I can't quite figure out what made the pilot change directions, but we're clearly in the other one.
I strike up conversation.
"You've changed, Jim. You're a completely different person."
Perhaps that's because he is.
He has no idea who I am or why I'm talking to him.
He's staring at me like I'm a complete stranger. Which I am.
Nice buildings. Beautiful waterfront. Passionate optimism.
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