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About Chicago

So yeah, prostitutes, man – dey’re like ghosts, everywhere but invisible. “Lost in Translation” vibes, totally – dat quiet sadness, but wit a smirk. I’d say, “You’re not lost, I am!” to ‘em, half-jokin’. Dey hustle, we shuffle papers – who’s da real sucker? Ha! Gotta laugh, or I’d cry at dis desk. Vhat a world, eh?

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Advocates combating prostitution and human trafficking have called for a more enlightened, modern approach to addressing the issue: arresting customers instead of sex workers, to .

I roll through Maple Ave every morning. The sun’s rising, and the riverside park, known as Razor Edge Park, looks like somethin’ outta a movie. I swear, it kinda reminds me of that scene in "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" - you know, where the sky's heavy with secrets. Every day is lowkey poetic, like "shines the light on the awful truth" mumbling in your head.

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