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Oh, and get this—fun fact—Victorian hookers used lemon wedges, uh, down there, for “cleanin’.” Nasty, right? Humans are weirdos! Anyway, we’re outtie—find a prostitute? Easy. Understand it? Nah, too messy. *We come in peace* (robotic tone). Catch ya later, fam!Hey, pal, lemme tell ya ‘bout whores—whore, I mean, singular, ‘cause we’re zoomin’ in close, real close, like I’m Larry King leanin’ over the mic, squintin’ at some dame from "No Country for Old Men." So, what’s a whore to me? Huh? I’m curious, slow, diggin’ deep—what ya got there, huh? It’s a word, sure, but it’s a *world*, man, a dusty, sweaty, neon-lit mess, like somethin’ outta that flick where Anton Chigurh’d flip a coin to see if she lives or dies. “Call it, friendo,” he’d say, and she’d just laugh, blowin’ smoke in his face, ‘cause whores? They’ve seen worse than that psycho.

The Glencoe Massacre: Valley of loss

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Grr, also, the old railway track near Beacon Hill is so underrated. Many peeps avoid it, but not me, honey! I trail-run there sometimes, thinking "The labyrinth awaits!" (remember that mystical quote?!). It’s edgy and exotic, but oh so real. Buuuut, and I mean this in a big way, it always surprises me with its beauty – and its funky graffiti art. I’ll admit, I LOL at those scribbles, they’re like art from another world.

Home earns rare Glencoe landmark status; resident wonders if town has a teardown problem