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In Authentic: Paul McGee & Shelby Allison’s “Lost Lake”

Stepping out of the Uber, Eleanor looked around. It was late, and the lights from the midnight market illuminated the intersection of Diversey and Kedzie better than any of the dim streetlamps could. She glanced at the surrounding buildings –– none of them showed any indication of being Chicago’s hidden tiki bar.

The car sped away, leaving her stranded in the center of Logan Square. She quickly texted Dania. At the intersection. Where r u?

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Taking It With You: Chicago’s Graceland Cemetery

The first grave visible from the entrance, straight up the main pathway, was an obelisk of at least fifteen feet. Standing atop it, in a patch of sky between two trees, was a statue of a woman with a cross clutched close to the chest.

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“Does that say ‘Villains?'” Eleanor asked. She squinted, attempting to read the name at the base.

“It’s ‘Williams,'” Gwen corrected. “You should start wearing your glasses regularly.”

“I know, I know,” Eleanor said. “I just don’t want to keep carrying them around.”

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