Maps fascinate me. They take the place of porn-star pin ups in the back of my glove compartment.

I keep an array of maps with me at all times. Maps of the Chicago-land area poke from beneath my car seat and trunk. Sometimes, when eating breakfast I trae the boudries between counties with my back of my spoon. I try to memorize each of the Cook County suburbs. I imagine myself in Elk Grove Village or Arlington Heights or Wadsworth or Blue Island.

Would this bowl of Cap'n Crunch taste the same in Alsip? How about on the corner of Elston and Belmont? What about these blue berries or this coffee? You can be anywhere on a map, you can inhabit the world.

I stare at maps constantly. After the London bombings last July I covered every inch of the London metropolitan area. Paris met the same fate (at least by me) last October, and New Orleans the month before. Maybe I'm more of a bad news geography junky than anything else. Who knows, maybe I'm just amused by colors.