Watching Chicago Move from a High Window

In Chicago, and most of the day happened without me leaving the window. The room looks north up the Gold Coast, straight down the curve of Lake Shore Drive where it bends around Oak Street Beach, with the lake going flat grey to the horizon.

January cold, apparently — every rooftop in sight was venting steam, big white columns of it rising between the high-rises and drifting sideways. The brick apartment buildings just below have their balconies stacked with summer furniture nobody is using.

The drive itself was the show. Eight lanes of traffic all morning, thinning out midday, then filling back up as it got dark until the whole road was a string of headlights and taillights running north past the beach. The breakwaters offshore make a chain of little scallops all the way up the coastline; couldn't tell where they end and the next beach starts.

By dusk the buildings across the way had their windows lit floor by floor, and the traffic was still stacked up heading out of downtown.