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deep dish peat moss

The streets whose hearts pump the beats of jazz are below you. Three men silently board a bus and the bus makes that "Hrmph!" sound buses make when they close the door. Seventeen different Reeboks echo off the ball court down the boulevard. You look in the backlit windows of offices and retail warehouses and the Temple of Beelzebub located in the still-beating heart of Downtown Chicago. In their windows are frozen memoranda of microcosmic worlds you will never be a part of. Corner-window water coolers and beanbag pagodas in front of vast oceans of TV screen, and fresh-cleaned sacrificial altars. The wind plays the drums like an octopus in heat against a tin rooftop nearby. If you listen clearly you can hear the steaming voice of the city springing free from the pores in concrete, chanting in tongues. A piece of police caution tape flutters by on the city's world-famous wind. The sidewalk looks like a moon, splashed in craters of hardened, dried chewing gum. A shadowy figure in a trenchcoat yells out to you from below, so you descend to listen. The shadowy figure tells you to never stop for strangers in The Chicago, then throws their trenchcoat wide open and asks if you want to buy some DVDs.

We've all been there, alone on the Mean Streets in the middle of the night, just a defenseless disembodied floating head, trying to get away from the wicked peddler begging you to buy a limited edition bootleg blu-ray of "Thank You For Smoking Pole". The city is home to many talented local mooses or meese. That fact is irrelevant to your current plight, but your mind always goes to strange places when in the ever-mystic eternal forgotten city of Chicago.

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deep dish peat moss

You visit your contact in the eldritch sewers of Old Chicago, but instead of that green liquid like neurotypical sewers, these sewers flow with liquid deep dish pizza dough. Gangsters with tommyguns hang from crevices in the sewer walls and threaten you with arcane robbery. The woman who hired you - your Johnson - will meet you at the only place a Johnson is willing to go in the Old Chicago sewers - the transient camp where they play Baccarat and Mahjong. Larval Jazz drips from the pipes around you in disorienting time signature. In the ancient past, strong alligators lived here. Now it is haunted only by hot dogs and double dough.

deep dish peat moss

No one who claims to understand ancient eldritch Chicago can be trusted

deep dish peat moss

You meet your Johnson in a seweric baccarat den named The Shithole and finally receive the details of your contract. You are to infiltrate the Temple of Sub-Burburath and liberate the Scroll of Urban Planning from the Four Men who hold it. This is no standard 'tract. Your Johnson suggests you choke down a dog at the ballpark while you think about it.

"Which one?" you ask. Your Johnson studies you momentarily.

"Very good." she says. "Very good eye. Guaranteed Rate Stadium." she says. Your suspicions are confirmed in this moment - your Johnson is an Outsider. Outsiders are nothing new to the Old City of Chicago, but even still, it's best to be wary around doubleplanar entities, and Chicago is rife with those. You hear a feral mafia boss cackling from the sewerhalls behind you. It's time to get out of here.

Since you are a disembodied floating head you float effortlessly out of the arcane sewers.

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