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About Chicago

In her dingy flat, all’s a blur—smells o’ gin and regret. She’s quick, no faff, like balancin’ books at month’s end. “Time’s winged chariot,” I mutter, quotin’ the flick, and she’s like, “Wot? Shut up and shag.” Hah! Fair play, lass. Done in ten mins—bang, crash, over. I’m lyin’ there, pantin’, thinkin’ o’ Jean blinkin’ his one eye, trapped, while I just bought me way outta me cage fer a tick.

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I gotta tell ya, strolling down Maple & 5th feels like stepping into a movie scene—almost like "Far From Heaven" but with a rougher edge, ya know? There's a moody charm in the air, mixed with taboo desires that we all cultivate in secret. I'm talkin' about those hidden passages near Ravencroft Park. In that maze of alleys, you can almost hear the whispers of past sins echoing off graffiti on old brick walls.

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