There's a place deep on the west side, past the gaudy display and tourist traps of the 'old city', where the real old city still dwells. Tourists always go there to experience life as it was during war years. They needn't have bothered. Just find an open sewer and jump in. That's the atmosphere of the real west side. Then shoot yourself in the head for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That's the real skinny, none of this 'Plutonium spirit ' with grubby faced urchins sharing Geiger counters and breathing filters as they skip their way to the school they set up underground.
In a lot of ways things haven't moved on for a lot of people since those times. The slums are still there, silently broadcasting back all the radiation they absorbed into the next generation of grubby faced urchins, or 'bastards' as I like to call them.
The slums are where most of vices jobs are, occasionally they'll call my boys in. Some john gets whacked and we're expected to do the hard stuff, like try and explain to his wife and kids what he was doing in that part of town. And that time of night. Without his pants.
One of the most depressing jobs in the world must be that of the youth justice officer. He sees the same kids week in-out getting in trouble from breaking and entering and getting pissed on synth cider at eleven in the morning. And he knows. He knows no matter what he does the same kids will be there the next week all the way up to the time they're not his to deal with anymore and they get sent away to the real jail. Where they learn all the rest of the skills they need for their continuing life of crime. It may be tough at the top but its tough enough to make diamonds at the bottom.
So stop me if you've heard this one before.
Man goes into a bar. He has a drink. He has another one, He asks the bartender where he could find some company. The bartender points out a clearly underage girl sitting at a booth on her own. The man, shocked walks away and calls the police.
Oh, you haven't heard that one before? Thats because it never fucking happens. The man doesn't call the police. He doesn't walk away. He's not even shocked anymore. He goes over and asks her how much. No pre-amble. No small talk. Straight to business there's no love in this.
So she nods her head to the bathrooms. They walk over and finish their transaction.
Except when he walks into the bathroom its not the sexual release he's getting. It's me. With a pair of cuffs and anger in my eyes. Which I know might turn some of you on. But not this guy.
All he wanted was a way to relax in a strange city and instead he's looking at 5-10 years and a record as a sex offender.
This might count as a victory on the crime statistics but honestly who won? We didn't.
The juvie hooker we're using as bait? I know for a fact as soon as this stings over she'll find another bar and this for real there. There's too much money to be made from fat horny suits for her not to.
If its a choice between dignity and eating well, if you've ever been there you'll know its no choice at all.
These guys pay for 5 minutes or an hour of intimacy and what they get is cold hard sex. All sharp corners and no emotion just lust. Or if hes really unlucky one of those antibiotic resistant venereal diseases. That's something to try and explain to your wife isn't it?
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