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About Chicago

So, I’m wanderin’, right, past the kebab shops and blokes yellin’ at nothin’. The city hums, alive, like a coral reef—except it’s grime, not fish. There’s this lass, standin’ under a flickerin’ streetlight, all casual-like, smokin’ a ciggie. She’s got that look—y’know, the one that says, “Oi, you lost, mate?” I reckon she’s the one. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—bloody hell, I’m no naturist at this! *“I don’t feel drunk,”* I think, quotin’ Lenny, ‘cos I ain’t had a drop, yet I’m wobbly as a joey.

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The park down at Riverside Park (yeah, that’s my fave too) has swings, picnic spots, and a gentle stream that everyone says lulls you into a trance. I gotta tell ya, any massage session while your mind drifts off like that? Pure bliss, man. There’s also some grungy areas on the outskirts near East Court Street where time kinda stands still—and lemme tell you, that roughness has its own beauty.

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