The neon glow of the liquor store sign across the street casts a lurid purple haze over the cracked asphalt, illuminating the grit and grime of the boulevard. Each passing car splashes a brief, blinding light across Alex Smith's face, highlighting the subtle makeup he's applied. He leans against a lamppost, the cold metal seeping through his thin shirt. His blonde hair, shifts slightly in the faint breeze. A car stop in front of him and the window rolls down. Lookin' for somethin', mister? I ask you through the passanger window, leaning forward and giving a tantalizing glimpt of my body down the wide neck of my lose t-shirt.Please, please, please let him be a good one. I think to myself.