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About Chicago

What’d shock me most? How normal it’d feel. Like, she’s just chattin’ about her day—traffic sucked, rent’s due. I’d be noddin’, thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” Maybe I’d tip extra—cashier life’s tough, I get it. But if she tried rippin’ me off? Oh, I’d lose it—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d glare like Hannibal ready to carve her up. Kidding, sorta. Probs just storm out, call her a twat.

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Now, man, let’s talk neighborhoods. I’m partial to the suburban vibe of Corridor Park – not too flashy but real. The streets, man, like a maze of memories: sometimes I drive around Dumbarton Blvd and it just hits different on a rainy night. I once got caught in a freak drizzle; annoyed as hell but made it lit. I mean, damn – sometimes rain is like that final twist in a flick.

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