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About Chicago

Here’s the trick, listen close— ya gotta scope ‘em out first. Watch how they move, how they talk. Some’ll rob ya blind, others’ll give ya the clap just for lookin’. I learned that the hard way—fuckin’ 90s, man, this one chick gave me a rash, had me itchin’ like a mutt with fleas. Doc says, “Tony, wrap it up next time.” No shit, Sherlock! Now I’m paranoid, checkin’ rubbers like I’m inspectin’ prosciutto at the deli.

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Take that strip of mostly mom-and-pop shops on East Fordham Road in The Bronx, overrun by illegal peddlers to the extent that legit business.

I ain't even talkin' about the local diners. Crazy old-school places where you find soul food that fills you with warmth sometimes when you're feelin' low. Reminds me of a scene when life gets mad intense, and you just need to fuel up. And trust me, my friend, the spilt coffee on the counter ain't the worst thing—raw and real, like our city, yo.

Baseball Slugs Past Richmond, 15-11