The city awoke with a sigh, a collective breath drawn in under a sky the color of a damp stone.
The city awoke with a sigh, a collective breath drawn in under a sky the color of a damp stone. Tuesday, May 13th, 2025, was dawning over Chicago, not with the fanfare of golden rays or the crisp promise of a blue spring day, but with a soft, persistent embrace of cloud and cool air. It was a day that felt less like the cusp of summer and more like spring lingering, holding onto its gentle, sometimes melancholic, grip. The first light, a muted grey seepage, did little to pierce the thick, layered clouds that stretched horizon to horizon. Down below, in the quiet predawn hours, the city was still largely asleep, but you could feel the weather settling in, an atmospheric guest making itself at home. The air was heavy with moisture, not quite rain yet, but the palpable dampness that clings to brick and concrete, hinting at precipitation to come. The temperature hovered in the low 50s Fahrenheit, a cool kiss against the skin for anyone stepping out early. It felt lower, though, that f...