Fe, fi, fo, fum. 

In front me was a giant bean… with no giant nor a beanstalk in sight.

The bean was silver, highly polished, and 33 feet tall. It was surrounded by thousands of paving stones covered in hundreds of human beings gazing at it. Further afield, there were towering skyscrapers overlooking it from the west and north.

A month earlier, I had given my artist wife an annual membership to the Art Institute of Chicago for our 10th anniversary. 

Of course, living in a western Canadian suburb rendered this gift utterly useless without a trip to the Windy City, which I had previously — and conveniently — booked. 

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