There was no spring, apparently. I was wearing a jacket on Tuesday, and by Thursday, it was 91 degrees.
The first hot day in Chicago is uncomfortable, for sure, but it holds so much promise.
In the working districts, men forego their coats for button-down shirts and no ties. Women lose the pantsuits or tights and boots for dresses that billow in the lake breezes.
In the douchebag district, where I happened to find myself this afternoon, the tourist bros flock to the rooftop bars in starched Cubs jerseys and t-shirts with inappropriate, misogynistic sayings that make me wonder if actual shops sell them.
We have a meeting in the air-conditioned comfort of a corporate brewery, complete with mini tacos and chicken strips, and then I head out into the jungle.
Chicago is awesome. Remember that as I write these words.