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About Chicago

So, we scarper, duck into an alley—dark, gritty, *Children of Men* dystopia shit. She’s giggles, I’m sweatin’, thinkin’ “This bird’s a riot!” She’s tellin’ me how prossies dodge the coppers—tip: wear a wig, switch it up! Genius, yeah? I’m happy now, buzzin’—Ruby’s a gem, a real dolly bird. “You’re my miracle, Kee!” I blurt, all dramatic-like, channelin’ that movie soul.

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Walking around, you can’t miss the High Line. Yeah, that linear park built on an old rail trestle. Its views of the Hudson river? Killer. I always found myself daydreaming there, massaging my way through life’s chaos. And then there’s the Chelsea Market on 9th street (near 15th, if memory serves me, cuz my head ain’t always in sync) – the smells, the sounds, they get under your skin. Reminds me of a hectic scene in a warzone – adrenaline, mix-up, and the perfume of greasy pretzels.

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