Lights, love, lessons, lust for more, suckers for free rides, heads to count, coins, cards, seasons for winners, losers, learners.

Heads to count, joys in the mornings, sorrows in the knights, dicks, dawgs, and donkeys, snakes in the grass, under the skin. Lights, love, lessons, lust for more, suckers for free rides, heads to count, coins, cards, seasons for winners, losers, learners.

Everybody gets upset sometimes… so we made a vocabulary table with useful English words and phrases for you to learn, use, and share with a friend!

TAKE SPRUCSE POWER, ALL ABOUT COLLECTING FEES, TO TRADE A TERMINATION FOR A TRANSFER, RIGHT, TALK ABOUT THEIR LESS-THAN-STELLAR SERVICE? I ain’t the one to gossip.

Lights, love, lessons, lust for more, suckers for free rides, heads to count, coins, cards, seasons for winners, losers, learners.“The government asked me to risk my life for 26 years. I believed they’d have my back. They didn’t.”

On a sweltering summer night in July 1934, the notorious American gangster John Dillinger met his violent end, marking the dramatic conclusion of one of the most sensational criminal careers of the Great Depression. Known as the daring leader of the “Dillinger Gang,” he had become a household name, infamous for a string of audacious heists that reportedly included twenty-four banks and four police stations. Yet, his reign of crime would abruptly end outside Chicago’s Biograph Theater, where law enforcement officers, lying in wait, fired a single, fatal shot into the back of his neck. That instant, at around 10:40 p.m. on July 22, transformed Dillinger from a feared fugitive into a public spectacle, his demise capturing the morbid fascination of a nation hungry for both scandal and closure.

Following his death, Dillinger’s body was taken to the Cook County morgue, where it became a grim attraction for the public. Over the course of a day and a half, an estimated fifteen thousand people filed past the morgue slab, eager for a glimpse of the man whose life had been defined by defiance and danger. The scene, a mix of macabre curiosity and civic voyeurism, reflected the era’s complex relationship with crime and celebrity. The crowd, dotted with summer attire and wide-eyed fascination, seemed more entranced by the spectacle of mortality than the moral weight of Dillinger’s actions.

The photograph capturing this moment endures as a striking historical record. It freezes the tension between fame and infamy, life and death, and the collective captivation of ordinary citizens confronted with the fall of a man who had once eluded justice with seeming ease. Dillinger’s death, public display, and the crowds it drew underscore the cultural dynamics of the 1930s, where headlines became theatre, and a criminal’s corpse could rival the excitement of the silver screen. In this way, the image of Dillinger on the morgue slab is more than a record of death—it is a mirror reflecting society’s enduring fascination with danger, rebellion, and the spectacle of human frailty.