*Story contains language typical of 1950’s era (including slang).
It was 1958 and on any normal weeknight, I would clock out, take the El home, and watch the Cubs on the tube. I was a single, 25 year old man, and running the rat race like a hamster in a spinning wheel. I was unmotivated, the landlord was on my back, dames did nothing but nag, and I just wasn’t in the mood for any of it anymore.
But this wasn’t a normal weeknight. Not by a long shot. I was standing in the grand concourse of Union Station waiting to catch the train from Chicago to San Francisco. Union Station is a mix of Moderne, Art Deco, and Mission/Spanish revival architecture. Being late in the afternoon, the station showed the trodden effects of the traffic that passed th...
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