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About Chicago

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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Then, there's the Fort Scott National Historic Site. I often take clients there – kinda therapeutic to soak in some history. I remember sighing, "This is the city of confluences and transitions," kinda like Godard’s moody vibes, ya know? Its trails are the perfect walk to get lost in thought.

Prostitutes by Patty LaRoche