The Drake Hotel
Even though the rain had stopped earlier, the streets of Chicago were still slick, glowing under the soft reflections of city lights. A layer of fog hung low, blurring the sharp edges of downtown and turning streetlights into glowing orbs that hovered just above the ground. It was late—so late that the city seemed to pause, like it was holding its breath, giving me the perfect scene to work with.
The air was clammy, and my clothes were still damp from the earlier downpour, but I didn’t mind too much. I was in my element. With no real plan, I wandered through the quiet streets, snapping photos as I went, letting the city guide me.
Up ahead, a bright splash of pink light caught my eye on top of a building. I followed it and found myself behind The Drake Hotel, its silhouette rising out of the fog. Built in 1920, The Drake was once the gem of the Gold Coast, where Chicago’s elite gathered under grand chandeliers while the world outside kept changing. It sits at the end of the Magnificent Mile, a symbol of old-world luxury, keeping an eye on the lake and the city’s shifting skyline. The hotel has been through it all—Prohibition, the Great Depression, and everything since. If its walls could talk, they’d have more stories than the city itself.
The fog moved like the city’s breath, hiding some things while revealing others. The orange-yellow glow from the streetlights on Michigan Avenue lit up the mist, casting the nearby buildings in a hazy light and leaving The Drake in a sharp, dark outline. From where I stood, it felt like The Drake was silently watching over the city, a witness to everything.
I raised my camera, adjusting the settings to capture the mood. By the time I finished, a light drizzle had started again, and the fog had thickened, swallowing the skyline in the distance. I packed up my gear, feeling not just satisfied but like I’d connected with the city and its long, storied past.