One summer day a small group of extremely talented folk from 3to1, myself included, performed the agonizing daily ritual of walking down Michigan Ave trying to decide what boring, tasteless, highway oasis restaurant in the loop to have lunch at.
Much to our mis-adventure and vexation, the answer of where to eat quickly found us.
A six foot bald man with his shirt unbuttoned to just below his xyphoid process to expose the amazing amazon of chest hair accented by the must-have gold necklace, approached us on the corner of Michigan Ave and Congress and said:
