Last night after work I walked about two miles to my cousin's house for dinner. Along the way I kept having a cramp in my left calf, right behind the knee. I stopped to stretch it several times but it kept getting worse, and about a quarter mile from her house I finally stopped to call her and ask for a ride.
"Okay, I'll come get you," she said. "Where are you, exactly?"
"Um, I don't know, I can't see the street signs from where I am right now."
"Well, what stores do you see?"
"Er, there's a 'leather accessories' store next to a gay bar, and then there's an Indian barber shop and a Pakistani grocery store."
This kind of diversity is one of the great things about Chicago, and my neighborhood in particular. You can be on a street full of Ethiopian conversations, turn the corner and be surrounded by Chinese and Korean culture, and then walk into a neighborhood of Venezuelan, Mexican, and Peruvian restaurants.
"So I guess I'm at the corner of Gay and Indian," I told my cousin.
"Oh, I know exactly where you are," she said. "I'll be right there."
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