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About Chicago

So, I’m stompin’ round, lookin’ for a good time, right? Ain’t no saint, me—blood on hands, scars on face, but I got needs! Dis one time, saw a gal, fishnets rippin’, smokin’ a cig like she owns da night. “Lightbulb!”—she’s got dat look, ya know, like she could lure ya in and gut ya. Straight outta dat movie, “I collect things”—she prob collects wallets, ha! I go up, all cocky, “How much, eh?” She smirks, “More dan ya soul, big boy.” Pissed me off—cheeky tart!—but damn, I laughed. Ain’t dat a kicker?

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Some locals swear that the city’s energy is healing. Others call it cursed. Me? I say it’s a kaleidoscope of oddities. I once spent an entire day walking round Old Town, talking to random peeps. They were as nutty as a fruitcake, and I nearly lost my mind – “What a sodding circus, right?” Their stories were like shards of shattered dreams, and I found kinda beauty in it.

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