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About Chicago

So, prostitute in RSL—little known fact, yeah?—it’s got this subtle flick of the wrist. Not loud like American Sign, all brash and in yer face. Russian’s sneaky, mate, like a KGB agent slippin’ past ya. I saw this lass once, in St. Petersburg, workin’ the corner near a busted fountain—her hands moved fast, signin’ to a deaf john. Blew my mind! Didn’t expect that, did I? Thought, “Blimey, 007, you’ve seen it all now.” Made me happy, seein’ her hustle—real grit, y’know?

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Man, I often zip over to River Bend Park. That park by the Peachtree River? Pure gold. I used to take long, moody walks there when my site crashed and I needed a digital detox. It fails sometimes, but hey, life’s a stage. And truthfully, nothing says “I can see Russia from my house!” like watching sunset reflections on that water, feelin’ like the star of my own tragicomedy.

Obituary of Blaine Robert Keener