Leoni.
I shiver beneath shreds of cloth, beneath a thin leather jacket and that sad excuse for a black evening dress and I wait. I stand on that corner, my corner, my place of business, and I wait. Tonight's gonna be a slow one, but I won't just let it go that easy. I refuse to be like these other hussies around here. I refuse to just call it a night and give it for free. No, not me, baby. I never give it for free.
I'm going places. I've got dreams bigger than a bank account could hold. I've got dreams and I'm going places.
I need that money.
Around the corner, bass bumps heavy like hammers over water from the windows of a lowered El Camino, platinum rims shimmering like they've got something to say.
Money.
They sing and scream it like the anthem of the century. Money.
Money.
Money.
I close my eyes and wait, wait for mister money to come ask me on a date, give me an offer.
But he just drives past, with his windows up. Not interested.
This happens a few more times. A slick Escalade, diamond plated, windows tinted. A silver Scion with a lone driver, he's begging for some action.
Come on, mister money. I'll be a lady this time- I promise.
But they just drive by.
I pull out a cigarrette and light it up.
I know these Hollywood boys have a taste for action, for danger, for pain and pleasure and ecstasy. For all of it at once, so much that they can barely handle it. Like those movies they star in, or play for, or write for. You know they've all got to have a piece of that pie.
I know what they want, and I've got it.
It's starting to rain, a light icy attack from the wintry sky. Like bullets coming down to condemn my scant clothing.
Put some clothes on, Leoni, what are you thinking?!
I can see my mother's disappointment in my smoky breath, she's got that look in her eyes...
I shake her memory out of my hair and droplets of water fall like they're trying to drown me.
I want to go in, to call it a night. I shiver and pull my jacket close around my fragile form. I used to be such a tough girl. A little cold shouldn't get to me, not when I've got business to do.
I'm not like those other hussies, I tell myself as my lips cling to waterdrops, now a pale purple-blue.
I'm not like them. I've got dreams.
I hear the splash of running feet beating puddles in the distance and I know better than to advertise now.
I hide in the dark of the alley and wait for the trouble to pass, but the faint splashes slow to loud pitter patters, slish slosh. There's two of them.
A fat man scurries like prey beneath the grip of a tall, dark predator. Like an eagle, he swoops his long, built arm down and grasps the old man's neck. He draws a knife from his pocket and gives one good thrust into the full gut of his victim.
He twists the knife and then pulls it out like it's nothing. Wipes his hands on his black shirt and walks off, as cool as Kerouack after a good smoke.
I move behind the rickety staircase and watch with wide eyes.
He moves like he's got nothing to prove, a swagger in his step brings out the scotch on his breath and I know that this isn't his first time.
He pauses in front of the staircase and pulls out a silver flask.
Now's my chance.
I'm going places. I've got dreams bigger than a bank account could hold. I've got dreams and I'm going places.
I need that money.
Around the corner, bass bumps heavy like hammers over water from the windows of a lowered El Camino, platinum rims shimmering like they've got something to say.
Money.
They sing and scream it like the anthem of the century. Money.
Money.
Money.
I close my eyes and wait, wait for mister money to come ask me on a date, give me an offer.
But he just drives past, with his windows up. Not interested.
This happens a few more times. A slick Escalade, diamond plated, windows tinted. A silver Scion with a lone driver, he's begging for some action.
Come on, mister money. I'll be a lady this time- I promise.
But they just drive by.
I pull out a cigarrette and light it up.
I know these Hollywood boys have a taste for action, for danger, for pain and pleasure and ecstasy. For all of it at once, so much that they can barely handle it. Like those movies they star in, or play for, or write for. You know they've all got to have a piece of that pie.
I know what they want, and I've got it.
It's starting to rain, a light icy attack from the wintry sky. Like bullets coming down to condemn my scant clothing.
Put some clothes on, Leoni, what are you thinking?!
I can see my mother's disappointment in my smoky breath, she's got that look in her eyes...
I shake her memory out of my hair and droplets of water fall like they're trying to drown me.
I want to go in, to call it a night. I shiver and pull my jacket close around my fragile form. I used to be such a tough girl. A little cold shouldn't get to me, not when I've got business to do.
I'm not like those other hussies, I tell myself as my lips cling to waterdrops, now a pale purple-blue.
I'm not like them. I've got dreams.
I hear the splash of running feet beating puddles in the distance and I know better than to advertise now.
I hide in the dark of the alley and wait for the trouble to pass, but the faint splashes slow to loud pitter patters, slish slosh. There's two of them.
A fat man scurries like prey beneath the grip of a tall, dark predator. Like an eagle, he swoops his long, built arm down and grasps the old man's neck. He draws a knife from his pocket and gives one good thrust into the full gut of his victim.
He twists the knife and then pulls it out like it's nothing. Wipes his hands on his black shirt and walks off, as cool as Kerouack after a good smoke.
I move behind the rickety staircase and watch with wide eyes.
He moves like he's got nothing to prove, a swagger in his step brings out the scotch on his breath and I know that this isn't his first time.
He pauses in front of the staircase and pulls out a silver flask.
Now's my chance.