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Smothered in Fun

So I was running an errand a few weeks ago down Western Avenue, that long, gray road to everywhere in Chicago. I was at a red light and looked over at a curbside hot dog joint – in the redwood forest, you look over at gigantic trees, here, at hot dog joints – and read a hand-lettered sign in the window.

Squirrel Suicide

It’s November in Chicago, which means many things – the Bears blahs, should-I wear-a-hoodie-or-a-parka-weather, and tons of squirrels trying to murder themselves.

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