The bartender at Violet Hour has a slice of photo-realistic bacon peeking out of his tee-shirt.
Goth chick eating ice cream at George’s has Urbs in Horto in a four-color sleeve.
Shirtless gay dude carrying Whole Foods down Southport has a Great Horned Owl spread open-winged, nipple to nipple, on his waxed or otherwise depilated chest.
You want to go petals-on-a-wet-black-bough with these people, turn the eye inward and, you know, strictly meditate the thankless Muse.
But the girl reading Adbusters at Quimby’s has the Man Ray portrait of Sinclair Lewis on her décolletage. And the woman in line at Sun Wah has a webwork pattern on her shoulder that turns out to be a schematic of the El.