The church in Chicago had been booked fairly full but with a few Jenerous donations, some kind words and possibly a threat or two, a space had miracusly opened up. The candles had been lit, and the choir sang, a wordless song that rang true to the ears, reminding people of the rocks that they had and where the woman in question had grown up, the block. It was somber, it was tragic, the woman in question was old as shit. 

Nicola stood in front of the church, her head bowed in silent prayer. The community gathered behind her to pay their respects to the women who had spent at least fifteen years in this community ranting, raving, soliciting her services for attention, the list went on what she would not to do better the men in fedoras and women around her. A true legend, this person was. And now where we were, Mourning the loss of youth, but celebrating her in the same breath. 

She was thirty-six years old, she had been a rock in the community, mostly weighting them down because she was a pain in the ass. But she had been there. Cleaning up messes, commiserating with the masses, farting up a storm when she forgot she was allergic to cheese once against. A true pillar of the community. 

And now, at thirty-six years old, the woman had enough. No more photographs to share, regardless of the perspective. No more joyous songs to sing, despite all the alcohol available to her. Her body lay in the casket, cold, dead, unmove and finally (Blissfully according to some) Silent. 

A life taken too soon, but Nicola held up a sign, those in attendance were able to read just as the choir started singing their joyful tune. 

"Don't mourn, Celebrate that she's 36." it read. Those amonst the mourners which at least sixteen braincells were able to deduce that this was a jenuis ploy to garner attention on the birthday of the poor Jennifer who was laid to rest. The others were there because they thought they should be, unsure of their role to play. 

But Nicola was satisfied, for she was not shitting blood and any attention was good attention in her book, as that's how she was made. She poured another rum and watched the ongoers wondering who'd bitch that this was more of a private event meant for the the business district versus a public event meant for the streets. Sipping her rum, Nicola laughed inwardly, so you couldn't see it, Totally internal, because the goal of this was attention, and by god they'd both be getting it. 

Ah yes, sexual harassment.  The go-to cope of the ridiculed.  It couldn't possibly be that the person just did and said incredibly mockable things and was teased for it.  Throw in "bloodlining" too for good measure and for extra sympathy, despite not a single bullet being sent in the direction of any of this person's goofy lineage.  Fortunately for us, we have an "in" with Nicola-Trevisani, who we all often praise in private conversation about how funny and cool she is.  However, now that the deep-rooted friendship between Grin, Jaws, and Nicola has been exposed, we must now find a NEW mole within City Hall to shield us from any sexual harassment claims, which to my understanding has come in the form of tipping your ancestor's street dialogues.

That being said, if anyone enjoyed my little tirade here today on this street corner, I will be accepting of ALL tip donations, including monetary tips of a sexual harassing nature.