I always wondered about this guy. I mean, he could be the nicest guy ever, helping old ladies across the street, picking up groceries, donating time with underprivileged and the sort. It not that I worry about, no. It's what does he do when nature calls. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a toilet in his 'can't-even-be 10x10' shack. He has tons of newspapers, sold for 1.50, and plenty of time since most cars pass him by without even the slightest humane acknowledgment.
I used to buy the Sunday edition of the Sun-Times from him a bit ago, may be some two years ago. Why did I stop? Aside from the whiskey breath, he gipped me a a few quarters and took a long stare at my mom's chest in a tank top (Chicago Winter Weather at the time: 50 or so degrees). read more