The street looked kind of different - harsher colours sharper

angles. Shops stacked high with stereos and rows of magazines. Smells

of coffee, glossy limousines. The sun danced on the chromium. Slant

eyes drowning in the light. Lights turned red as elbows jabbed, voices

snarled and luck turned sour, Children screamed! Brakes were

screeching! Knees were pumping, ribs were crunching... Crushing,

drowning deeper...

The street looked kind of different. The paving stones were playing

cards, and cried out as I skipped from the red to the black. Cracked a

joke about the joker, saluted all the kings, threw a ring to the

blackest queen who ushered me away to the palace in the square where

the air's so cold and it gets so lonely in the night.

She whispered sleazy secrets on the couch by the TV. 3D visions of a

soapflake, trumpets blared, a voice declared: