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Scene from a Scrapyard
Standing in line at the scrapyard. This place on Chicago’s South Side is always a bustling hub of gritty activity. There are four languages being spoken here: into cell phones, through teeth clamped around Pall Malls, under scarf wrapped hoods. This is a meeting place, a place of worship, a place to study the men and women who grease the wheels of the great machine that is this city.