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About Chicago

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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Now, let me point out some gems. The park, uh, U-park, oh I mean upbeat park, sits near the River Rizzle. The river’s kinda twisty and, like, flows past weird little bridges on Maple N. and sometimes I watch the sunset reflection off the water, whaaa? It makes yer heart do a silly flip.

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