Needles of rain spiked down occluding the neon signs which were offering the gamut of wares; ranging from cheap anonymous sex to high cost fine dining. A trio of hunched bodies under a nearby stoop alternately retched spasmodically and tore at their gums with long yellowed clawlike fingernails. A tall thin shadowy figure drew on the strings of his hoodie in tight, paying the living dead little heed. Customers; in an indirect manner all the same but business is business. A quick inventory of pens, then our man continued on his way. You can’t get by on the streets without having at least a hint of the score and anyone in the game of dreck had spilled enough red and pink upon the pavement to ever worry for any trouble. A reputation for brutality is indeed the best offense. Faces passed by in the crowd and lips shaped silent words but null was heeded as the man moved upon his mission. A man on a mission is a nigh immobile object, hellbent on content; the man moved his way through the masses with the grace and finesse of a jungle feline on the stalk. The giggles and jeers of the whores were downstorted into a common drone along with the majority of the street traffic. A massively obese drag queen attempted to pitch a trick but immediately turned the other way once her distorted pupils focused on the face beneath the hood. (47,643)
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