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About Chicago

I seen one, once—down by docks, sneaky bugger of a spot. Called it “The Rose,” ha! More like “The Thorn,” prickin’ everyone who stumbles in. Bloke runnin’ it, fat as a troll, gold tooth glintin’—thought he’s king, he did! We hates it! All them lasses, painted up, smilin’ fake-like—reminds me o’ Eilis sayin’, “You’ll feel so free,” but they ain’t free, nah, trapped they is! Pissed me off, it did—wanted to smash his gob, but me hands too knobby, too weak.