Others at American Hardware, the younger men, mostly, opted for the glitz of the newer hotels, with tiled lobby fountains and silk greenery; windows which couldn’t be opened; and rooms carrying all the charm of a model home facing the freeway. Let them have it, he thought. I want to hear the laughter of couples on the sidewalk below; the sound of the taxis and trucks echoing up to me, announcing the busy Chicago morning.

He gathered his Samsonite and briefcase, told the valet he wouldn’t be needing his car for the rest of the night, and walked, on legs stilted from the six hour drive, to the heavy brass doors of the hotel. Checking in at the reception desk, he noted with some satisfaction that he recognized the white-haired clerk, even though Eugene’s previous visit to the hotel had been seven years before. The clerk did not, however, seem to recognize Eugene.

Eugene requested a room on the highest floor, the twenty-third, but the clerk, whose gold-colored nameplate identified him as Carl, told him the only room available on that floor faced southwest, toward the city, rather than northeast, toward the Lake Michigan shoreline. In fact, he had added, there were no other rooms available all week, because of the convention.

“That’s fine,” Eugene said. “I’m not planning on spending much of the day in my room anyway. I’ll be at McCormick Place, making myself rich.” Eugene slapped a snappy rhythm on the marble top of the counter. “And in the evening, well, as I remember, the view of Chicago from the twenty-third floor of the Dorchester is pretty breathtaking.”

“Of course, sir. You’re quite right.” Carl slid a perforated plastic card onto the counter, and offered a practiced smile to Eugene. “This is your room key. Enjoy your stay, and feel free to ring the desk if there is anything you require.”

When Eugene opened the curtains covering the windows in room 2366, he discovered that one of the new buildings his friend Marty had told him about was a massive condominium tower looming directly across the narrow street from the Dorchester. His view, rather than of the dramatic thrusting shapes of the Chicago skyline, and the older neighborhoods that eventually gave way to the distant south side, was of the balconies and Levelored patio windows of expensive, vertically-stacked urban homes.

He took the suitcase stand from the closet and positioned his Samsonite on the black nylon webbing. He removed the neat stacks of clothes, transferring them to the drawers of the dresser. When he found his vacuum-packed bag of ties he shook his head in wonder. This was, he thought, a perfect example of Margaret’s approach to life.