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About Chicago

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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Even the Cherry Creek itself, the river that snakes through the city, gives it a soul. I often take a stroll along its banks – sometimes I even imagine it’s like life itself, flowin’ and unpredictable. You know, one time I met a lovely couple there who told me their first kiss happened right there, under the sunset. It was whimsical and real.

Cherry Creek boys lacrosse topples Grandview to remain undefeated