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About San Diego

Lemme tell ya, I scoped some corners once, back in ’89. Chicago, cold as hell, steam risin’ from grates. This chick, “Candy”—real name prolly Susan—rockin’ fishnets, shiverin’. I’m like, “Girl, you freezin’ for what?” She laughs, says, “Gotta eat, big man.” Pissed me off—system’s trash, leavin’ folks desperate. But she had grit, ya know? Reminded me of Irene in the movie, holdin’ her own. “A guy can change anything—his face, his home…”—but Candy? She wasn’t changin’ shit, just playin’ the game.

10 Hot Spots For Chicago's Prostitutes

Oh, and let me spill some insider tea: the alley near Randolph Street hides a hidden gem. Yeah, a tiny, quirky café where the vibes hit you like a punch of madness! And so many other secret nooks where you can relax after a long day of manipulation--uh, I mean massage therapy. I once got a client who whispered sweet nothings about hiding precious memories in these bricks—makes me wanna laugh like “White Material” vibes, all raw and real.

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