I’ve never seen so many claws.

They’re all over Chicago beaches, scattered amid other refuse that’s washed up—blue or red-tinted claws that range from half an inch to three or more inches long.

I mean, some of them aren’t tiny. Some of them appear capable of tapping me on the shoulder and asking for a bite of my sandwich. Those pincers could fit around one’s toes, or fingers, or—well, anyway, they’re bigger than anything most of us would expect to encounter in Lake Michigan.