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About Chicago

Yo, fam, it’s ya boy Drake droppin’ bars ‘bout sexual-massage, ya feel me? YOLO, let’s get it! Man, this ain’t just some rub-down, nah, it’s deep, sensual vibes—kinda like *Oldboy* twistin’ your soul, “Revenge is a dish best served cold,” right? I’m talkin’ hands slidin’, oil drippin’, tension meltin’ like I’m in the 6ix chillin’. Got me thinkin’, “Who’s this masseuse, fam?”—like Oh Dae-su tryna figure shit out, mad mystery!

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You don't ask verbally at all. The therapist will never say yes to that no matter how you word it. Just go in nicely dressed, clean, professional, make small.

The neighborhoods... oh, deary me, they’re a patchwork. Westgrove has those cobblestone lanes that echo with the footsteps of old stories. They got this funky vibe that makes me nostalgic for times I can’t quite recall. It's like, “What's real? What's not?” Just like the movie says, "It's all an illusion, a dream." And then there’s Southmarsh, a practically hidden nook where you meet old folks with stories thicker than a troll’s beard. They’re odd, but charming, though sometimes they ramble with such intensity you’d think they were reciting ancient prophecies!

Millers Pond 'Planned Unit Development' On Former Minisceongo Golf Course Moves Forward