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About Chicago

Anyway, we’re chattin, she’s leanin in my car, smellin like cheap perfume and danger—my kinda cocktail. “Life’s a game,” I mutter, quotin “Ten” again, and she rolls her eyes, “Then you’re losin, mister.” Ha! Burned me good, love a gal with teeth. Makes me wonder—fish don’t judge, why do we? She’s just swimmin her lane, survivin—respect that.

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Ere the morn, at Lakeside Park near Birch Ave, I met a buncha quirky souls. There’s a creek that babbles like a gentle minstrel, whispering secrets to passing lovers. It doth remind me of secrets in a love letter—so poetic, so freakin precious. And omg, I nearly spilled my coffee, I was so mad, lol!

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