15 or so years ago, when I moved back to Chicago, I had to rush from work to an Indian grocery to pick some delicacy up to a leasing office and then downtown to catch a train back to where I’d been living to move things into the apartment I’d just leased. (the Indian stuff was a bribe to the person coming to get me at the train station, and was something the store made only for special people, and certainly never white dudes, which lead the checkout clerk asking “who are you?” with surprise). There was a pretty tight time line for all this, because of when the stuff would be ready, the leasing office hours, and the train schedule and the transit connections involved. My ‘L’ trip to the leasing office was disrupted because the line had been shutdown due to police and fire activity next to the tracks. Fortunately, I was only a stop away from the office, and was able to run there before they closed, and then one of the people there gave me a lift to an ‘L’ station on the other side of the stoppage. I was able to get to the train station only a few minutes late, which because it was an Amtrak train, was in plenty of time.
The next day, I learned the stoppage had been caused by some second hand grenades. Well, third hand, at least. Someone had bought a building next to the train, and while clearing out the basement, found a box of grenades. As one does, they took one to the bar to show off. Someone there pointed out it was a WWII German grenade, and they didn’t have the best reputation for stability when new, and that 75 years in a Chicago basement was unlikely to have improved it. When he mentioned there were more in his basement, they called the police, who evacuated the block, shut down the ‘L’, and waited for a military bomb squad. they found at least another box of grenades, plus some machine guns, ammunition, and assorted other Nazi paraphernalia, presumably put their by some returning GI.