Des (deskitty) wrote,

  • Mood:

Time to warm up the writing muscles...

[...which means this fragment will probably suck. But that's OK. No feedback necessary here, I'm just trying to kick my brain into gear prior to working on my PHIL paper.]

Never kill a man if you can help it. Really, it's more trouble than it's worth.

You've got to pay the death-tax to his clan, and that's if you're lucky. If you're unlucky, you'll become prey.

I had been out walking one cold afternoon-evening (Mizar was still high in the sky, while Alcor was just starting to set). I was on Central, walking towards the 'port through downtown. Now, the downtown area of New New Orleans is a pretty rough place -- it's the oldest part of the city, with run-down buildings, neograffiti on every visible flat surface, the usual. It looks like every other spaceport city in the human bloc.

But in New New Orleans, you can find places and people here to satisfy any of a human's darker vices. You can buy drugs, like speed, crack, meth, or E (the last of which has been largely replaced by wang, a dangerous drug that, as its name suggests, gives you orgasms that last a really long time). Then after you pick your drug of choice, you can nab one of the many street hookers (available in all shapes, sizes and genders). Or, if you prefer a quiet evening at home, you can head over to Aizawa's Fresh-Sex and pick up a video or two, ready-made to order.

But don't try to pay in anything other than cold, hard rocks. Even straight paper money has no value here anymore. The only things worth using as currency are pretty stones -- gems, gold and the like. Worse yet is asking for credit; pay up front, or else.

I walked into this last situation, as I turned left from Central onto Adams.

I stopped short; in front of me were two men, one white guy with his back against the brick wall of the Adams Treasury, and a shorter Asian dude with a very shiny and dangerous-looking long knife pressed against the white guy's throat. The white guy looked pretty well-dressed, and very out of place. I mean, who wears a leather jacket in this part of town? I snorted at the thought.

Both men turned their heads to stare at me, one pleading, the other hostile. I froze, considering my options.

[OK, time to drop this here. It's lunchtime, and I have a paper to write.]

-- Des
Tags: writing

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