
Chicago's Lowest Rank
Your browser does not support the audio element. The wind off Lake Michigan howled through the Loop that crisp October evening. Skyscrapers pierced the gray sky like jagged teeth. Sarah gripped her coffee cup tighter as she hurried past the Bean, its mirrored surface warping her reflection. She was thirty-five, a graphic designer with laugh lines etching her eyes and a habit of biting her nails when stressed. Marriage to Jake had sanded away her edges over ten years. Tonight, though, something sharp cut through the routine. ...








