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About Chicago

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya start? Down by Flea Bottom, stinks like a dead hog, but that’s where they lurk. Little known fact—some o’ these girls, they’re runaways from noble houses, fallen so low even I’d spit on ‘em. Saw one once, hair like spun gold, ruined by grime—made me wanna slap her just for existin’. “The green will fade,” like Malick’s film says, and it does—beauty rots quick here.

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I ain’t messin’ around – the vibe here is raw. I get lost in its beauty every damn day. I love the old brick murals along Riverside. They whisper secrets and remind me, "La chaleur de l’amour…", like that movie line. It’s low-key poetic in a deadpan way, you feel me?

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