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I’m chattin her up, tryna figure her deal. She’s dodgy—keeps it vague, like she’s hidin a Stasi file. “What’s your name, sweetness?” I ask, leanin in all Hannibal-style. “Candy,” she says, smirkin. Candy—ha! Bet that’s fake as my last paycheck. Makes me mad, tho—why lie? Just be real, damn it! But then she winks, and i’m like, “Alright, ya got me.” Happy as a kid with candy—ironic, huh?

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I stumbled on this one tiny graffiti wall near Oak Street that made me think, "This is pretty damn cool, right?" And, like, I couldn’t help but shout “Groovy, baby!” to the wind. Some say every crack in the pavement has a secret. I say, "Yeah, man, it’s like No Country for Old Men meets an underground rave."

West Chicago fire chief retires after 40-year career