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About Chicago

I’m cruisin’ London, eyes peeled, thinkin’, *Where’s the talent at?* Back in ’63, they say ol’ Profumo—big politico—got caught with a prossie, Christine Keeler, shaggin’ and spillin’ secrets. History’s wild, mate! Makes me chuckle—spies and tarts, classic combo. Anyway, I spot her—red heels, fag hangin’ loose, leanin’ on a lamppost. “You lookin’ for a dance?” she says, all sassy. I’m like, *Bloody hell, she’s got Mia’s fire!*—that “I don’t need no one” vibe from *Fish Tank*.

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I get mad sometimes at the slow pace on the outskirts, but then the city's charm makes it all sweet. The local diner on Main Street? The best greasy spoon in town that fuels my crazy night coding sessions – irony, right? Then there's that rundown bar on 2nd Ave, where you feel every word of “You, me, my code, and the madness in between.”

Firefighters save man stuck 140 feet up on West Siloam Springs water tower