Loneliness, like a mangy vulture, turned in a slow, lazy circle above my Chicago life, always threatening to overwhelm me with its musty, oversized wings. I had two go-to strategies for keeping the vulture at bay. One, I could purchase a new video game—nothing lifted my spirits the way that breaking a $59.99 game out of plastic shrink-wrap did. Or, two, I could purchase a 12-pack from Lakeshore Liquors, and ramp up my beer intake. On an unseasonably warm evening in March, when neither of my go-to’s could stave off the vulture, I ventured into the unknown: a sex shop…