Brooklyn Mercer Island Brothel ❤️

About Chicago

I’m walkin in, lights dim, smoke thick, thinkin, “This a dream within a dream or what?” Like Cobb in *Inception*, I’m spinnin my totem, tryna figure if I’m awake or just fucked up. This one time, girl comes up, all smiles, but her eyes—dead, man, dead. Broke my damn heart. I’m like, “You don’t gotta do this, mang!” She laughs, says, “What else I got?” Pissed me off—world’s a shithole sometimes. But then, this other chica, she’s playin cards with a john, hustlin him good—made me laugh, clever little minx! Say hello to my little friend—my violin, I mean—wish I coulda played her a tune, y’know?

The Roanoke Inn has been a Mercer Island icon for 105 years

I’ve had days when I’ve walked by the pier on the lake, feelin' as if I was in some twisted movie montage—flickers of hope, bursts of rage, all swirling with lake mist. “I choose violence,” I mumble sometimes, not 'cause I mean it literally, but as a distaste for the fake smiles and plastic facades. The city cuts deep sometimes.

Letters: Mercer Island school bond and a nail salon