LaSalle Street

This morning

Smith and Wollensky/Marina City © 2013 Celia Her City

Beneath the Corn Cobs, the tables were all set up at Smith and Wollensky, for all those lucky souls intent on steak dinners tonight.

Slumbering on North LaSalle, © 2013 Celia Her City

An organized slumberer occupied a bus shelter on North LaSalle.  What’s next, indeed.

7 eleven, © 2013 Celia Her City

The wait, © 2013 Celia Her City

A driver awaited his party outside a sleek office building.

Sequestered snow, © 2013 Celia Her City

Snow had been sequestered at one end of Federal Plaza (note nearby police).

Another morning in an American city, © 2013 Celia Her City

Another morning at the P.O., © 2013 Celia Her City

The post office, a glass oasis, filtered the action outside.

Beneath the Flamingo, their voices will rise © 2013 Celia Her City

From beneath the Flamingo, their voices will rise.  How many protests has this bird seen?

Another morning, with media, © 2013 Celia Her City

Even without seeing the big picture, you know where you are.

Into the golden canyon

Jackson at five is a golden canyon, as commuters hurry along between massive bank buildings and the Board of Trade. The time to make money is over: the clock has been punched, the markets closed; yet just then does the financial district begin glowing with the color of gold.

Somewhere in there is our beating heart

Even though Chicago is one of the great financial centers of the world, to an ordinary person it doesn’t feel that way.  In fact, the area right at the center of things, near the Board of Trade and the Federal Reserve, can be downright sleepy.  Chicago is essentially a city of quiet money.

The Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago (Credit: Celia Her City)

The Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago, on South LaSalle, © 2012 Celia Her City.

Click to enlarge.

Bus Stop Scenery

Bus Stop Scenery

I wait for the bus at the bottom of LaSalle Street, which is kind of a taken-for-granted scene.  In fact, you’re surrounded by notable and historical buildings, so many of them that the specialness of it all doesn’t even register.  Because, of course, we’re there everyday, waiting for the bus, still thinking about work, our feet tired.  Plus, that “commuter pride” thing kicks in—that wanting to appear blasé that proves you’re an insider, a work warrior, a city sophisticate—not a tourist or a rube. More