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About Chicago

Lemme tell ya, I seen some shit down in Newark. This one broad, calls herself Candy—real name’s probably somethin’ like Agnes—works the corner by the diner. Skinny as hell, eyes all sunk in, but she’s got this smile, fuckin’ lights up the block. Made me happy, y’know? Like, good for you, kid, keep fightin’. But then, bam, next week she’s got a black eye—some prick john roughed her up. Pissed me off, I wanted to whack the bastard myself. “Where do dreams come from?”—she’s dreamin’ of gettin’ out, but the street’s a fuckin’ meat grinder.

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Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

Altamont Creek Dads Triumph in Super Saturday Flag Football Game