LOWER

A sleepless, unnamed man drives aimlessly through Chicago’s Lower Wacker Drive, its concrete arteries looping endlessly beneath the city. Fluorescent lights flicker, ramps repeat, and familiar exits dissolve into dead ends. Time feels stalled. There’s no GPS or phone signal under the city. As exhaustion blurs into paranoia, the drive becomes ritualistic—circling, descending, resurfacing—until he finally spots an exit ramp. He ascends into daylight. Chicago is still there—but very different…