Coming up to Damen Avenue Friday night after 1AM, driving west on Webster past the expressway underpass on the northern edge of Bucktown; two squat forms wave, then shuffle up to the taxi. Both men look to be in their late 40s: stout, compact, and bespectacled. The one without the thick black mustache asks for a Clark Street address in the Loop, so we hit the highway ramp and are off. The litany begins even before we merge into the downtown-bound traffic: “They don’t like you, Bob, in fact they hate your guts.”