She turned to look at John sprawled on the rug, cushions tucked below him. She sat across him, unsure of what to do. The lights weren’t bright enoug... for her to read, and she didn’t want to risk lying in his presence. “You sure you wanna just sit in the corner like that? Why don’t you lie down for sometime as well? We’d be able to work better, rested,” he said. “Ummm, I’m okay, I think,” she mumbled back. The buzz was stronger now that the lights were off. “Oh cmon, I don’t bite,” he said,. The zinc countertop and the unshaved cook in a dirty apron are still present. Looking around, however, I note that the patrons are no longer the Italian goombas of the past. They have been replaced by a younger crowd of men wearing motorcycle jackets and boots. Each seems to have a young slut attached to him.Grabbing my ‘steamies’ and a soft drink I go out to eat at a table on the sidewalk. The show is excellent strutting she males, assorted pimps, pushers, bikers, whores still abound. My meal. More

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