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About Chicago

So, I’m thinkin’, right, how’s a bloke s’posed to pick one? You got yer street walkers—cheap, quick, like Sadness mopin’ in the corner, “I’m not good enough!”—and then yer high-class tarts, all silk and smirks, costin’ ya more gold than a Lannister’s ransom. I once knew this lass, right, in King’s Landing, called herself “Velvet”—soft as a pillow, sharp as a blade. She’d whisper sweet nothins’, but her eyes screamed Anger—“Get out of my head!”—and I swear, she’d rob ya blind while smilin’. Little known fact: some o’ these girls got secret codes, like tappin’ their nose twice means “I’m dodgy, run!” Saw it meself—saved me arse once.

House of Pleasure

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I’m a psychologist, so I see the scars and sparks. People here, they wear their emotions on their sleeves. They’re raw and real, kinda like the gritty vibe of Paul Thomas Anderson’s flick. The city makes you feel things hard. Sometimes, you wanna yell out “I’m in, baby!” at the absurdity of it all.

Camp Pendleton Marines and Sailors Improve Barracks Conditions