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About Chicago

So, we chat, me an’ her. She’s called Jade – prolly fake, who cares? Tells me she’s savin’ for a flat. Dreams bigger than that bathhouse in the movie, eh? “Work hard, Jade,” I growl, “Or you’ll be sweepin’ pig pens like Chihiro!” She cackles, says I’m mad. Fair. Exaggeratin’ a bit, I reckon she’d shank me ‘fore she’d shovel shit. Tough lass, that one.

The girls are waiting here for their clients.

Yeah, guess what – sometimes I feel “Under the Skin” vibes too. Those lines? “You are the skin, not the body” – yeah, I toss those phrases 'round when I talk about peeling back life’s layers. The city’s deep like that movie – mysterious, sleek. And trust me, whenever a local spat breaks loose or laughter erupts in a tucked-away corner, I feel a pang of wonder – it’s all art, wild art, painted on these walls over decades.

Photos from lacrosse: Rye tops Cold Spring Harbor