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About Chicago

Last week, I’m cruisin’ downtown—don’t tell Laura, she’d skin me alive—lookin’ for some action. Saw this gal, legs longer’n a Texas highway, and I’m thinkin’, “P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way!”—like I got her address locked in my brain! I ain’t no genius, but I know a deal when I see one. She’s wavin’, I’m sweatin’—hotter’n a billy goat in a pepper patch! Paid her fifty bucks—prob’ly too much, but I’m a sucker for a smile. “Righteous bucks,” she says, and I’m happy as a pig in mud.

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So, friend, if you're wanderin' around PFishers (us) – give time to these quiet feels. They’re raw, unpredictable, and utterly real. Chill out, walk those streets, and soak in each moment. Like I always say, relax and let the city speak to ya. Catch ya later, buddy!

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