Holy shit, I lived on Pine Grove and Diversey when I was in college. There was a building there, can't remember the address (or, on most days, my own middle name), but there was a roller blade shop in the lobby, grocery store across the street, all night diner at the end of the block and a liquor store right across from it. All the apartments were little boxes about the size of Smartt's dungeon of pain, really fucking tiny, and the closet was about the same size as the apartment itself. That is the windiest fucking street in the entire city, the shit picks up off the lake, whips around the towers and the marina and just rips a layer of skin off by the time you hit Broadway, which at the time was famous as a pit stop for ambiguously gay married men looking for their first tits with dick experience. You could pretty much exist for months without going more than 50 feet: food, libations, watching tranny whores stabbing johns from the window and that cosmic Elk's memorial where God only knows what deviant rituals were performed by men in racoon caps. And there was nothing quite as cool as coming down off four hits of acid and stumbling through Lincoln Park in the morning. Good times.