I’ve still got my jeans on…
What’s in that wallet?
More Paper…
Lampadaires.
Or Lamp posts.
I’d better get off this street.
Nothing Left.
Nothing Right.
Yeah, nothing’s right.
I don’t think these people can tell where I come from.
They’re too well groomed.
They smell too good.
There’re more women here than anywhere else in this City.
Or it’s in the whole City?
…
How long was I in this cell?
A breeze in my back.
And a fruity smell of fruit.
Voice:”Do not move.”
Me:”I moved.”
Voice:”Excuse me?”
Me:”In my pants.”
Voice:”Anyway…”
I feel the tip of the gun.
Between my shoulder blades.
He leads me back into the alley.