The dead seek the lowest places in Chicago: We find them in basements, laundry rooms, on floors next to couches, sticking out of two parked cars or shrubs next to the sidewalk. It is more than gravity that pulls them down, for in every dead body there is something more willfully downward: the lowest possible place, the head sunken into the chest and turned toward the floor.I have smelled the smell of death. It is bad. And there was one call I never had in my brief time on the streets: a really stinky dripping leaking ripe DOA. It's a call I'm happy to have missed.
The essay is from the just published The Wagon and Other Stories from the City by the University of Chicago Press. I'm happy to see more academic presses, U of C in particular, to be publishing more cop related books. I just ordered it from Amazon.
[Thanks to Mayor Irish Pirate for the link]