Chicago: a place of too much and too many.

Such places are attractive to things like Mr. Glausser. Small towns are too little and too few, where everyone knows everyone else's story near back to birth—quite suboptimal. Certainly minds and memory are malleable in the hands of things like Mr. Glasser, but such expenditure of effort is unnecessary when sufficient noise will wear down a person's history equally well. Get enough bodies in one place and the histories glaze over. The childhoods grow quiet. No body is anything more than it is in the moment. Optimal.

Glausser's business didn't have a name, nor did it need one. The products and prices posted outside were enough to know what sort of business it was. In those days you didn't need a good reputation or prime location to attract customers. If it was there, someone would wander in sooner or later. Word of mouth would only be a hinderance to Mr. Glausser's business. After all, it's much harder to beware of something you can't name.,_bird%27s_eye_view,_1912_LCCN2007660812.tif

Map of Chicago's gangland:

Cabrini Green before it was Cabrini Green ("Little Hell"):

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