Rain falls in slanting sheets across Wacker Drive. Cars huddle in gridlock on sleek pavement. Lights from Helmut Jahn`s Crystal Palace are all aglow. Pedestrians in look-alike trench coats hurry toward train stations, clutching briefcases and umbrellas.
An elevated train rumbles westward above Lake Street; a Burlington Northern, belly heavy with commuters, labors along the west bank of the North Branch of the Chicago River. The trains` lights add to the glitter from the Merchandise Mart and the Apparel Center; the trains` sound is muffled by the wet.
A woman waits for a traffic light to change near Wacker and Lake, where Lower Wacker disgorges cars and buses aboveground.
Splash! A sheet of water descends on the woman, courtesy of a noncourteous CTA bus driver.
Another woman runs up. ”That was just terrible,” she says in a sympathetic rush.
The soaked woman thinks: ”You betcha. It would`ve been worse for you. You`re wearing a white coat.”
