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About Chicago

So, lemme tell ya—had this one time, right? Pal o’ mine swore by this shady joint downtown. Said it’d “heal my spirit.” Great Scott, what a load! Walked in, dim lights, weird incense—felt like I stepped into Boonmee’s jungle cave. Lady there, all mysterious, starts rubbin’ my back, and I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t no regular massage, Marty!” Hands goin’ places—legal, sure, but damn close to the edge! Made me happy as hell, tho—tension gone, like poof! But also pissed me off—why’s this shit so hush-hush? Society’s all prude, man!

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You know, Riverview flows gently beside the industrial district. That river, man, it glimmers weirdly at dusk. I sat on a crumbling bench twice and let my head spin. I was blown away; you know the feel. Like Vader in his dark meditations. I mumbled, "Ich bin dein Vater" under my breath. It's dark poetry, true and simple.

Coach Sharon Johnson ensures her athletes succeed on the track and in the classroom