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About Chicago

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout findin’ a prossie, yeah? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – it’s like, ya stumble outta some dingy pub, right, and the world’s all bleedin’ gray and slow, like in *The Turin Horse*, that mad flick I love. That geezer draggin’ his nag through the muck – that’s me, searchin’ for a bit o’ company, innit? “The wind’s blowin’, everything’s dyin’,” like Béla Tarr says, and I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, Ozzy, just find her already!”

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The riverside, the sidewalks, the old brick buildings—each crack tells a story. The architecture, sometimes quirky, makes you stop, think. And me? I notice details others don’t. Like how a spot, a specific bench near the old clock tower, sparks memories of both joy and sorrow. I mean, it’s like the movie shows you truth in silence.

Commemorate Fridays in Lent with Hightstown Elks Lodge Fish Fry Dinners