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About Chicago

But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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I’ve seen some wild stuff here—people dancing in the rain on Second Ave (I swear it rained magic that night). And sometimes, I find myself just wondering, “Did you see that double rainbow? That’s life playing with my heartstrings!” Emotions run wild here. I even recall one time, while counseling a client at the local community center on Crescent Ave, I was struck by how raw and honest Bridgeton makes you feel—like every echo of a footstep is a memory, a heartbeat.

Bridgeton's hidden gem: A grocery store serving up true Mexican flavors