Tony at the Red Line Tap.
“Give me a bottle of whatsever cold,” I mumbled to Marty behind the bar.
We’ve had thirty-one days of 90 degrees and above in Chicago so far this summer.
“It’s so hot, the sun makes me woozy,” I told Tony.
“The beer will help. Just pour it over your head,” said Tony.
“I think I’ll just drink it.”
“Your blog’s been kind of quiet about the union bosses lately. Nothing to complain about?”
“Nothing’s happening with our pensions. At least that I’ve heard.” I said. “It’s all behind closed doors. And
