Last Friday night while running a few errands, I was surprised to find carolers standing in front of Morse “L” Liquors, a corner right by the el stop where you’re far more likely to encounter panhandlers or crazy people. “Would you like some hot chocolate?” a young man asked, pointing to a large orange thermos. “No, thanks, I’m here for the bourbon,” I said. I got my Maker’s Mark, stayed for a rousing version of “Hark! the Herald,” and continued with my rounds.