Angelina Ridgefield Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Ever think ‘bout her story? I do—late nights, waves crashin’. Maybe she’s runnin’—from somethin’, someone—like Theo in the film, hunted, haunted. Quirky thought: bet she’s got a tattoo, misspelled, somethin’ dumb like “Luv.” Hah! Cracks me up—whore’s a damn legend! Exaggeratin’? Sure, but she’s larger than life, pal!

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In our travels around the town that Ridgefield was a half century ago, we have gone from Country Comers, along North Salem Road to the New York state line. Then we journeyed along Barry .

Now, lemme spill a lil’ secret. There's a hidden corner near Maddux Street where the locals meet for impromptu jam sessions. I once gave a massage to a feller who dropped by after one of these sessions – he said, “Your hands work wonders like a desert breeze.” Reminds me of that cowboy feelin’ from the movie: mysterious, dangerous, yet kinda poetic. It riles me sometimes when folks think massage ain’t an art form – dang no, it’s a craft!

From the grounds of Lounsbury House here is P-06877-etry "Lean and Listen"