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About Chicago

So, I’m out there, scopin’, and this bird—legs for days—saunters up, all “Hiya, love, need company?” I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, she’s bold!”—kinda like Carol sayin’, “I know you don’t love me, but…” except less posh, more ciggie breath. Made me happy, though—straight-up hustle, no faff. But then—fuckin’ hell—some geezer rocks up, all “Oi, that’s my girl!” and I’m like, “Mate, calm your tits, I ain’t stealin’!” Nearly shat meself—angry pimps? No thanks.

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Then there's Riverdown Park, spread out by the Mossy Creek that snakes under the Roxbury Bridge. I love hangin out there on lazy afternoons. The creek’s a whisperin’ friend, always sayin’ secrets. Yeah, secrets like those hidden tales in every cracked pavement. Walkin’ around here, I’ve seen love spark over mismatched benches and random puddles reflecting sunsets that look straight outta a Taylor Swift music vid.

Access to water in East Orosi left precarious after pump failure in well