I don’t remember where I picked him up but he was going to the Westin off Michigan Avenue. He talked about living here years ago in that nostalgic way that hints at wild times and freedom long since traded for comfort. As we waited for the green at Ohio and LaSalle, he looked out the window at the northwest corner and said, “My uncle used to own that place in the 70s before selling it to the archdiocese of Chicago.” He was pointing at the triple stack of diamonds comprising the sign of the Ohio House Motel.