Makayla Stapleton Brothel ❤️

About Chicago

So, I heard this story once—some brothel in Nevada, legal one, right? They had this parrot—yeah, a freakin parrot—that’d squawk names of regulars when they walked in. “Jimmy’s here! Jimmy’s here!” Imagine that, your shame broadcasted by a bird! I’d be mortified, screamin, “Shut up, ya feathered snitch!” Got me laughin tho—how’s a parrot got better memory than me? I’d forget my own name in a place like that. Too busy panickin bout germs—those sheets ain’t washed, I bet. Prolly smell like desperation and cheap cologne. Ew, I’m gaggin just thinkin bout it!

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This blog collects the journalism of John Stapleton from the s to the present day.

Now lemme tell ya, each block got its vibe. Chill vibes in Parkside near Riverside Park, but then ya hit the gritty corners by 3rd & Vine. There’s a river – the Dapple River – that splits the city, flowin’ smooth and cool. I once got a massage appointment by the riverbank. The sound of water was like Timbuktu’s serene melody. I felt like, "Eh, got my own little paradise!"

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