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About Chicago

Say hello to my little friend! Dis chick, man, she’s a prostitute, workin’ da streets like she owns ‘em. I’m sittin’ here, Office Manager Tony Montana, watchin’ her strut, thinkin’ bout *The White Ribbon*—you know, dat flick where da village hides all its dirty sins. “The truth is a pestilence,” dey say in da movie, and damn, ain’t dat her life? She’s out dere, heels clickin’, skirt so short it’s basically a rumor. I’m pissed, tho—why she gotta hustle like dat? World’s messed up, pushin’ her into dis gig.

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Neighborhoods here have their own quirks. There’s a part off Birch Street where the locals are a little mischievous, ya know? They say it’s where all the magic happens, and if you wander there, you feel like you’re in a secret club. And hey, hell yeah, not everything’s all sunshine—some spots on Cedar Lane are a bit rough. Yeah, I got mad at the potholes on Cedar Lane, man! They almost messed up my ballet-like massage moves one time. Womp-womp.

Santa recounts fond memories of Enumclaw