Singer Jennifer Merchant performs at Davenports Wine Bar in Chicago.
A young man walks through downtown Chicago with his pet snake. "Her name is 'Cuddles," he says. "She's a type of python. I've actually got three snakes. I just like them, snakes. I don't know why."
Stan sat on the guard rail in the alley behind my building. He was hunched over and shoving a brown-bagged bottle of booze into his windbreaker with a deep sigh. "Son of a bitch landlord," he said slipping in and out of English and some Slavic language. "I keep telling him -- the fucking steps. I'm going to break my neck on the fucking steps! Everytime it rains -- I slipped, I fell. Now I got this." He pointed to a large bruise on near his left eye. It's entirely possible he slipped on the rain soaked wooden fire escape and bashed his face on the landing, but it's just as likely he got into a fight at the corner bar. The old pensioners like to start early. He shrugged when I asked to take his photo, and straightened up a bit. "My sister got this hat in Bulgaria," he grinned. "She got it for me! I guarantee you'll never see another one like this."
