Friends rarely believe me when I tell them about the grandmother on a rocking chair who lives in the walls at Marina City. At least, that’s who it sounds like inhabits the cast-in-place concrete of my high-rise corncob home every time a stiff wind blows through downtown Chicago. Here’s proof.
On those nights when they burn the house down at the House of Blues, we shudder in Marina City condos above. Most of us are familiar with the midnight din of emergency vehicles looming loud and coming to a halt beneath our bedroom windows.