Spring in Chicago was
still closer to winter than anything else, but living in the
Windy City made people strong enough to handle anything. The streets were filled with advertisements for the newest and brightest
jazz musicians, and while
prohibition and
The World's Fair were still hot topics, nothing was hotter than the recent assassination of
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Now, vaguely cleaned up but still without sleep, Mohinder was at a desk in the Chicago Public Library. He'd collected and thumbed through a number of newspapers and was concentrating both on that and keeping his eyes open. Or at least not dozing too obviously.
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It still really sucked. If things were going to continue to be like this, he was really gonna need to figure out a better plan than what he had.
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"Sora," she said, pulling away a little. Or, at least, trying to. "What the heck are you doing here?"
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