“I’m waitin’ for ’em to build that supercollider and break down an atom farther than it’s supposed to be brought down–and the whole fuckin’ universe is gonna unravel,” says Chris. “That’s what scares me.”
“This is a seedpod, man. We’re supposed to outgrow this planet and go explore the rest of it,” Chris insists. “And instead we’re like delving into our navel with a supercollider, OK? Instead of going out and actually seeing this stuff. Because everything big is just built off of small. You go from atoms to the universe, it’s the same thing. Just bigger.”
“I do this because if I didn’t I’d be living under a viaduct,” says Chris, who set up shop here after being laid off from an O’Hare ground crew three years ago. “I think the first thing that got me hooked was a deco inkstand I bought for 90 cents and sold for $100. That pretty well set the hook. And I said, well, this is a lot easier than workin’ with the planes–no noise, no fumes, and no boss.”
“Everybody pursues different agendas. This guy here,” Bob says, looking disapprovingly at Adam’s space, “just wants to make money.”
“He” is the building’s mysterious owner. No one seems to know who he is. Even Andy, who everyone believes is the building’s manager, professes ignorance. He won’t even admit that he manages the building. He says he’s retired and his two sons are running things.
“Don’t you ever watch Oprah?” he chides.
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“It’s just like the one on Morgan Street,” Bill insists. “That guy ruined his market before he even opened up. It’s junk. It looks like this room.”
