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About Chicago

So, I’m cruisin’, late night, city’s alive. Prostitutes out there, hidden like clues. Did ya know—back in ’78, SF had mad scandals? Cops didn’t even care, bro, wild shit! I’m thinkin’, “Man’s a slave to his habits.” That’s from the flick, stuck in my head. I see her—red heels, smirk, she’s a cipher. Heart racin’, I’m like, “Yo, this it?”

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An old, rather DUMPY hotel - with prostitutes sitting in the lobby and on EVERY floor as you exit the elevator!

I erratically wandered every nook; sometimes I’d scribble mental notes like: "Yarr, familial bonds be mighty fragile, yet here they bloom." I loved spotty moments when families gathered in modest squares with boisterous chatter, reminding me of life’s splendid unpredictability – wild, free, and sometimes downright nutty (like 13 typos, mate, err, like this good ol’ mess).

Man missing in Odessa, police say