26 May 2011

Chapter One

"We had troubles in the past, but never anything of this scope before," said the simultaneously stout and gaunt man as he touched his brow. His face was sunken, but fat hung from his neck. His stomach harbored much, but his arms recalled coffee stirrers the ones available at your neighbor corner store. He was a member of the Parking Lot Attendants Association for the city, and as the interview continued he shuffled his stance and adjusted his posture repeatedly. I wasn't conducting the interview, though. That was up to the real news men on the scene. Eavesdropping is an essential skill for an unemployed freelancer, with no fresh clips in over two years and an ever-present need for drink and smoke. Eating is largely unnecessary.
A car exploded in the unregistered lot on the corner of 30th and Market. It almost took out the bar down the road. It could have reduced the one up the street to rubble and debris, that would have been fine, but not the box at the end of the block. Lazy speculation would point to the teamsters, or possibly the new Black Panthers, and that will certainly be the angle that the professional newsies run with. Crooked bastards.

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