everybody knows where you go when the sun goes down
It's hard out here for a mutant. (It really is.) Some days you end up so penniless and sad that you've got to do cheap human pet tricks on street corners to scrape up enough money for a box of instant ramen and a pack of cigarettes. Some days you end up living in the sewers or Antarctica (fuck Antarctica, man) or wherever-the-hell-else because Psychotic Evil Genocidal Entity Of The Week is after your ass, potentially personally. Today, specifically, it's the former, so we've got a nice little setup here at the edge of the Agora. A thirty-something (perhaps?) man, tall, with striking red-on-black eyes (hey, they could always be trendy Hot Topic contacts) is sitting at an outdoor table, idly shuffling a regular deck of playing cards. At the edge of the table, there is a folded up sheet of paper (the back of some anonymous flier drifting around town) displaying the following announcement hand printed in good old black marker:
FORTUNES: 1 CIGARETTE
or free if you don't have any, whatever
But is this really what it seems?