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About Chicago

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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Honestly, this city's got layers. Happy vibes, mad vibes, low-key quirky energy. It's a mixed bag that dances like a jazz tune from an offbeat movie scene. I can’t help but fall for it, even when it pisses me off sometimes.

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