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About Chicago

I walk in, ladies everywhere, smiling, winking. One girl, she look like my sister – I scream, “Nooo, not you!” Made me angry, heart go boom, like bomb in movie. “This is the end!” I yell, but no, she just laugh. I calm down, order drink – cheap vodka, taste like tractor oil. Brothel got dark corners, sticky floor, ugh, I trip, fall on big guy. He mad, I say, “Sorry, my king!” like in film. He punch me, I laugh – pain is funny!

The ads you see for “girls to your room”

I might have mad typos in my texts, but each flaw’s a badge of honor. Damn, I'm sometimes mad, other times stoked. Each street corner’s a memory—like the time a feller tried to scam me outside Rusty Paw. I told him, “Get lost, idiot sandwich!” and he legged it. Absolute madness.

Treasure Island