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About Chicago

Once knew this one gal—Candy, swear to god—worked downtown. She’d laugh, sayin, “I’m my own boss, baby!” Had this wild story bout a client who paid her in rare coins—friggin *coins*! She kept em, said they’re her “retirement plan.” Cracked me up, thinkin she’s out there, stackin history while I’m sellin life insurance to schmucks. “The music is out there,” like in the movie—her music’s the cha-ching of survival.

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Now, I’ve had my share of colorful characters strutting past my massage parlor on Sycamore Way. Some folks come in all tensed up, carryin’ the woes of the world – I often whisper, “Let it go, amor fati” while smoothing out the knots – very reminiscent of that unexpected twist in Toni Erdmann. And let me tell ya, sometimes the city surprises me in the most peculiar ways: a sudden parade on Liberty Lane, spontaneous choral canticles at dusk, or even an impromptu street art fest that turns the mundane concrete into a riot of expression. Who knew art could be as therapeutic as a good kneading session, eh?

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