The perfect act outside of Brady's Tavern By Patrick T. Reardon Stop, short the physical. Yes, you know the noxic feel in the deep and up throat and out, and the thick wet stink up your nose, even though it is his feel, his nose, fellow feeling…

Bethlehem By Patrick T. Reardon Motel sign, blinking, blinking, blinking: "Jesus Christ slept here."  Put up a theme park with dioramas and interactive learning centers and miniature railroad circuits and, as one of the attractions, a You-Are-Crucified ride that ends in a big splash of death and then a quiet slide to redemption. Or oblivion in the Tunnel…

Towers loom By Patrick T. Reardon Loop towers loom behind their gleam, and I can take you to the parking lot just off Dearborn Street where the Mayor and reporters went down into unflooded freight tunnels (although that lot is likely gone now, 26 years later). Alex and I drove south to…