CHICAGO – My downstairs neighbors, Dan and Allie, announced a couple of weeks ago that they’re moving out at the end of January. “Are you moving out?” I asked, suspiciously, mournfully the day I came down the stairs of our old six-flat to find them coming up carrying boxes. They looked apologetic. They’d just bought a house, they said, and it had all happened fast, and they’d been looking for the right time to tell me. They knew I’d be sad, and not only because their departure potentially leaves me at the mercy of the kind of hooligans who have rented apartment 2F in the past.