I arrived in Chicago last week, and within 10mins of my arriving, some poor guy jumps from the 12th floor, literally just after i walk in the door and go the window to see the view of Lake Michigan, the guy jumps. The sad part is that he jumped from his floor, 12th, not the 22nd, where he could open a window and jump from the hall. He laid there for a long while. A woman doctor passing by stopped and she crouched over him but refused to touch him because she was afraid of liability issues - lame. It seems his parents died a week or so ago, and he himself has cancer, and I guess at age 50 he was thinking he would have no one to care for him as he aged and dealt with the cancer-chemo, so he jumped. I fucking hate big cities, big time. He did die. Not immediately, unfortunately for him. He laid there a crumpled, broken body, no blood, and he eventually let go the grip on life he had and was gone by the time they got the ambulance there and prepped him to move. Oh well. I wish i had known him so I could have helped him to live with cancer and therapy.