Chapter 16Carla Fels looked out the window. Streaked with grime, the windows gave her a northern view: Loyola University in the distance, closer in, more apartment houses (run-down, going to seed) like the one she occupied, on traffic-clogged Kenmore. She brought a cigarette to her lips and wished her hands didn’t shake so. Could it be the vodka that caused the shaking? Or was it the downs? Either one should make her not shake, not the other way around.
The snow from the night before had abated. Streets were wet, slicked with water and dirt. The mounds of snow banked against the sides of streets were dirty grey, wearing a film of mud and soot.
It was a little after nine on a weekday morning (who knew what day it was anymore?). Carla splashed more of the vodka into her glass and sipped it
