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About Chicago

Last week, I’m prowlin’ the streets—sketchy alleys, neon lights flickerin’ like a busted flux capacitor. Saw this gal, right? Total pro, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a cig like she owns the joint. Great Scott! She’s got that “I’m in charge” vibe—like Sean Parker sayin’, “A million dollars isn’t cool, you know what’s cool?” I’m thinkin’, “A billion tricks, that’s cool!” Hah! Made me laugh, but also—damn, she’s smooth.

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up Missing: Ironton.

Hah, then there’s Westside Park. It’s a little slice of heaven. I walk there every morning. Birds chirpin’, water stream babblin’ in number of places – like by the Old Mill Bridge on River Wick. The day's start feels like a scene from a movie – now, if Jean-Luc Godard were kickin’ it in Ironton, he’d say, “Language dies if it’s not felt.” And I feel it, every single frickin’ day.

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