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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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Ball Is Life: The Décor of Buffalo Wild Wings

“Why is everyone wearing the number 82?” Dania asked, as a waitress with a knotted-up jersey passed by their table.

“It’s the year it was founded. See?” Eleanor held up her menu, where the number was printed again, with the word “SINCE” imprinted into the bottom of the 2.

“Huh.” Dania looked back at the waiters. On one of them, walking towards their table, she could see the words “B-DUBS” printed across the chest, just above the number.

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