It was a windy spring day in Chicago. I stood on the bridge of Michigan Avenue looking down the Chicago river. The river was choppy and crashed against the concrete walls. The water was powerful and swayed in a massive motion under the bridge and away from me cutting threw the city. There were tour boats docked on the side, and people walked down the stone steps towards them. The wind blew on my back, never seeming to cease. Boats were coming and going out of Lake Michigan and I stood in a trance studying the tiny ant people that were i ....