Rogers Park, as the neighborhood is known, is the attic of Chicago, where the city stores people it can’t use, but can’t get rid of, either. The main drag, Sheridan Road, is lined with adult care facilities whose residents sit outside on bus benches, smoking cigarette butts and cuddling headless dolls. Author Neal Pollack, who lived here in the late 1990s, called the locals “the sediment left over after you put the city of Chicago through a sifter.” There’s a hippie restaurant that has remained open for 38 years, even though everyone agrees that the food is terrible, the service is terrible, the kitchen is filthy, and the owner has no business sense whatsoever. There used to be a bar called The Ho, but it was condemned after the floor collapsed. When the Leather Archives and Museum outgrew its original location, in a more expensive neighborhood, the repository of S&M history found a new home in an abandoned Rogers Park synagogue. If you want to make a career out of being weird, this is the place. In Rogers Park, only the weird survive.