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About Chicago

Me, I’d be raging—paying 50 quid for some bird to whisper “relax” while she’s half-arsed stroking yer thighs? Sod off! Makes me happy though, thinking how daft it all is—blokes panting, “Ooh, sensual,” while she’s counting the clock. Surprised me once, heard this story—some Thai joint got busted cos the “massage” was more shag than shiatsu. Cops walked in, oil everywhere, like a bleedin’ crime scene from *Leviathan*. “Who’s to blame?” they’d say in the film—well, the randy twat who booked it, obviously!

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Boom, hometown culture is raw. The city’s vibe is like a never-ending jam session – unpredictable, full of soul, passion and a bit o’ damn insanity. Even the sidewalks got a story; need I mention how the cobblestones along Ridge Road sound like snare drums under your steps? It tonally reminds me of a reckless guitar riff from some lost folk song.

“Saturday Night Live” recap: Quinta Brunson is back, Benson Boone makes first musical guest appearance