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About Chicago

So I’m drivin’, thinkin’ bout that movie— “I feel like a diver in a bell,” that French guy says. Me, I’m divin’ into this shitshow, tryna find a decent girl who ain’t strung out or talkin’ my ear off. Last week, I pick one up—cute, red hair, legs for days. She hops in, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m happy for a sec, like, “Fuck yeah, jackpot!” Then she starts yappin’— “My ex this, my pimp that.” I’m like, “Sweetheart, I ain’t your therapist, let’s keep this transactional!” Surprised me how they always got a sob story. Guess it’s part of the gig.

Nyack Escort

I gotta spill some lesser-known deets. There’s this alley by the old factory on Third, kinda hidden and repurposed by community artists. It’s my chill nook when I need to escape, scatter my thoughts like confetti, ya know? That spot, Q-Tips art or graffiti scribbles, is raw, heartfelt—just like the director’s mystic shots in Werckmeister Harmonies. "There are no words!" might be what I yell out loud if you catch me there.

Police seek witnesses in early morning Nyack shooting