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About Chicago

Brothels ain’t glamorous, nah. Dirty sheets, dodgy blokes, an’ a bar tab longer than me arm. Once heard this tale – true story, swear it – some punter in Amsterdam’s red-light district paid with a bleedin’ goat! A GOAT! Laughed me arse off, but then – sad, innit? “We’re all alone,” like Anne says in *Amour*. Them girls, tradin’ flesh for cash, alone as hell.

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Then there’s the local hangout – Beaverville neighborhood. No, seriously – it’s grungy, it’s gritty, but it’s full of heart. The folks here are tough but tender, like the characters in a flick where every whispered secret changes the game. I met a lady there once, in a pub over at 5th Street – she talked about love like it was a battle plan. Sweet, raw, and damn honest. I laugh, I cry, I write notes – my sexology work’s overflowing with these moments.

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