The back street is dirty concentrate overlooked by signs. Marked-up merchandise lays in wait beneath banners proclaiming closeouts, discounts, sales Garlicky Pakistanis, dour Koreans, passed over Jews turn off the lights, pull tight the metal grates, padlock doors, make their escape. Busted streetlights darken the unmarked corners. A drunk stumbles aimlessly as a marquee displays suggestively All Ladies Drink for Free and Amateur Night. She waits by the bar's entrance where a flourescent flash enhances the skirt's red vinyl.
Thick lips exhale a blue haze.
The XXX across the street cards a cursing trio. The oldest lights weed in the seedy hotel room above a nasty all-night diner. She shoots up on filthy sheets. I don't give no group discounts. Pay up, now.