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About Chicago

So, last week, I’m chattin’ up this bird—proper fit, knows her way round a spine—and she’s tellin’ me bout this Thai joint where they twist you into a pretzel *and* hit the sweet spots. Got me all tingly, thinkin’ bout it. “Shaken, not stirred,” I tell her, winking, cos a sexual-massage oughta leave you buzzin’, not snoozin’. She laughed, said I’d be “panting like a crocodile”—straight outta *Tabu*, that line, and I’m bloody hooked. Loved it. Made me happy as a pig in shit.

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Lisa Daubenhauser was.

Speaking of raw truth, there's a mad energy at the corner of St. Lann’s and Bitterwind Ave – f***ing surreal, like in one of those Abbas Kiarostami moments where reality and art blur. Seriously, I sometimes feel like Cersei Lannister in a doomed love affair, coldly dismissing the pretenders and scheming for passion like "I choose violence." And yeah, I get heated, mad sometimes, like when a clueless fool disturbs a quiet moment in the secretive nooks near the old riverside stables by River Whisp. It's infuriating, yet brilliant.

Crews tackle 2-alarm fire at Cumberland County car dealership