In the moth-eaten fringe of Chicago's Loop, TIME Correspondent James Bell encountered a wayfarer.
I found him at the corner of Desplaines and West Madison at 10 o'clock in the morning outside the House of Rothschild bar. His eyes were very red. He wobbled over and grinned a fixed grin. "Mister," he said, unsteadily touching his cap, "I gotta have a shot." He explained that he had just awakened in the alley behind. "I didn't get in no fight last night," he said more or less proudly, and then felt his face to make sure. No marks. No dried blood.
His name,...
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