the CITY

Prologue                                                                      

The city. That was what they called it. It didn’t have a name of its own, it didn’t deserve a name of its own. Such notoriety gifted to two insignificant words. Such was the city.

It was night. The sky wasn’t a black canvas dotted with the majestic light of stars. There was nothing like that. There would never be anything like that here. It was night. That’s as elegant as it gets.

The street was cluttered with prostitutes. More flesh than pavement. Cars patrolled the roads, their drivers with nowhere to go, each with just a single purpose. Get a girl, get fucked and then get back home before the wife woke. As I said, there was no elegance here, just sin.

The cars moved at a crawl, the women would flaunt all that they had and Verb would stand just out of sight watching over his livestock. Watching his pets earn him the money that he holds so dear.

Verb, a word that expresses action. His action was simple. Sell his women to the perverted and reap the benefits. The pavements weren’t cluttered with prostitutes, no; they were cluttered with his pets. Young, old, disabled, fat, thin, beautiful, vile. A choice for each man’s individual tastes.

“You, get in.”
“You. I want to fuck you.”

The ultimate devolution of romance. The ultimate degradation of men and women alike. Such was life in the city.

This meat market would continue throughout the night only being interrupted by the break of day. Don’t be fooled, the morning light didn’t bring a sense of guilt for their sinful ways and it sure as hell didn’t fill Verb with a sense of regret for his actions. If it was possible he would continue, but a business can’t run without customers. The morning didn’t suddenly fill them with remorse; the morning was simply when their wives awoke. When society would notice they were missing. Any connection to the city was undesirable. Their manufactured lives would continue, the day hypocritically lending a veil of darkness to their actions.

It was day. The roads were empty, the pavements unoccupied. Funny to think that whores could make such a difference.

He watched from a high window, just as he had watched since his arrival over a decade ago. Each morning he would arise before the sun and watch the change that befell the street outside his home. If a mattress, chair and single cup constitutes a home that is.

He cracked the fingers on his left hand first, they required the least force, he was stronger with his right it made the process easier. Never his thumbs they were for some reason exempt from his morning ritual. For over a decade they had been exempt. People and their intricacies.

It was exactly one hundred and sixteen steps from his door to Trey’s café. He knew this. He’d always known, he hadn’t counted he just knew. His mind worked in a way unlike most. It refused to be quiet. If he didn’t busy himself with ridiculous subconscious tasks such as counting steps it would cripple him. He’d just taken his one hundred and sixteenth step.

“Good morning, what would you like today?”

Lucy, an attractive young woman, far too attractive for a slum like Trey’s. She had no choice. The city was clear on that point. Outsiders have Outsiders jobs. They mix with their own kind. Now she wasn’t strictly an Outsider, but she frequently left the boundaries, it was the same.

He replied to her question in the only way he knew how, an un-amused glance. She walked the seventeen steps from his table to the counter. He hadn’t counted them, he just knew. His response wasn’t a rude one; it was the result of hearing the tired old joke each day. What would you like today? The menu had two dishes. Eggs and bacon or bacon and eggs. It was an attempt at humor. It didn’t work.

“Enjoy your meal.”

It was an attempt at humor. It didn’t work.

Cremated bacon is easier to swallow when lubricated by grease. It was food, and it was cheap. But that wasn’t why he frequented Trey’s. He wasn’t an Outsider; he didn’t belong with the Outsiders. He was respected amongst his peers, could have dined at any place in the city. Probably even free of charge, but he choose to pay for food that wasn’t worthy of his money. People and their intricacies.

Ninety seven, ninety eight, he was nearly home.

“You forgot your change.”

Ninety nine, one hundred.

“Excuse me”

He stopped. Lucy caught up to his side. “You forgot your change.” Two coins nestled in her palm, they were copper. Amounted to nothing.

One hundred and one.

“Don’t be so rude!”

She was clearly an Outsider. Rudeness wasn’t a choice in the city. Manners were nothing but a distant concept. It would do her well to remember that. Outsiders, they think they can make a difference. They don’t have that right.

…One hundred and five. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. You don’t chase a man down to hand over copper. She’d admit the truth or the number would continue to rise. She called it rudeness; he called it cutting the crap. There was work to be done he hadn’t the time for niceties, there was never time for niceties.

Three steps remained.

“Would you like to get a drink?”

He smiled. Not for the invite, but for the victory. They stood face to face. He finally acknowledged her presence. She smiled. It was premature.

“You can keep the change.”

He walked away. She stood watching. This was not the way of the city. This was his way. Emblems way.

There was work to do…