We went for a rainy walk yesterday in the ‘hood where Henry works. It’s one of those areas that’s half-abandoned and dilapidated but you just know the leftover residents have lived there their entire lives. A few people watched me suspiciously, not taking kindly to someone snooping around their hometown rubble; but there was a tall beanpole of a hooker strutting around down one of the back roads with an oversized umbrella, and she flashed her widely-gapped teeth at us when she passed and called Chooch a handsome man. Chooch was like, “Whassat?” when she passed, and I was like, “Someone Daddy pays when he wants to have filthy sex, Chooch.”
I saw some broad idling on the curb in her Blazer two separate times, each time with a different thug-type talking to her through the passenger window. I wondered aloud what was going on and Henry said, “We’re not in Pleasant Hills anymore, remember that.
The block parties probably got too swingin’.
Every town needs a good cobbler.
Next time Christina and I are on the hunt for a sleazy dive…
I’m not sure if this is a barn or a house, but I bet the KGBs hiding in there. And possibly the Lost Boys.
If I lived there, I’d use a periscope as my window to the world.
Was there ever a door so seductively blue.
This bench has a weight limit.
Shortcut to meth lab.