Claire Bristow Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

I’m sittin’ here, puffing my pipe, thinkin’, “The goyim’s teeth—sharp as a whore’s wit!” Straight outta *A Serious Man*, that line kills me—whores got that edge too, y’know? Cut you with a smile. Once knew this lass—Jenny, maybe?—worked the docks, had a laugh like a thunderstorm. She’d say, “Gandalf, you old git, life’s a crapshoot!” And I’d roar, “Indeed, lass, indeed!” She’d fleece sailors blind, then buy me ale—legend, that one. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—she was epic.

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You know, someone vandalized my car once. They keyed the word “whore” on the side of it. I didn't bitch. I got it repaired.

A few years back, I hosted a private session at the abandoned warehouse off Kennedy Rd. (yeah, that one, with graffitied corners and a half-ruined roof). The energy was so wild I nearly lost it. Emotions running rampant – mad, happy, surprised all at once. Like, “There is no rational explanation!” This place, it’s alive, man, and no corporate slick language can ever capture it.

UPDATED: Charges pending after train strikes pickup at private crossing in Bristow