If we learned anything from Charles Bukowski, it's that airports are for drinking. A lot of drinking. If bellying up to some faceless bar, dropping $9 on a watered-down cocktail and pretending to be interested in the ramblings of the guy next to you doesn't seem like a great time, head over to the bridge between terminals one and two. You'll find a tiny Goose Island Brewing Company stand offering a selection of Chicago's finest. Grab a seat in front of the wall of windows, pop open your 312 and watch the planes taxi to and fro. It's like watching the ballet, only with gigantic, metal dancers.