CHAPTER TWELVE
The job site was too far for Cyrus to ride his skateboard, so he took the Blue Line downtown and transferred to the Orange Line at Clark and Lake. He watched wistfully outside as the train circled around the heart of downtown before traveling south, away from the city, past factories, abandoned warehouses, tall rectangular Chicago homes surrounded by wavering mature trees, the Stevenson Expressway that reminded him of a Celtic knot, and across the Chicago River and to the Ashland Station.
The station sat right on the river, parallel to freight train tracks and a steel drawbridge covered in graffiti.
He walked out onto the platform, down a tiled stairwell, and out of the station into a two-way bus loop.
The place was outdated and smelled of sweat, exhaust, and raw heat fr
