Rumaging refuse under the rickety back alley under rusted fire escapes and ramshackle apartment extensions; Road rests her rump on the rubble.

Downtown is a fancy cyberpunk spectacle from the street fronts; plenty of space for zoomin’ cars, and folk too face-burried in phone screens to bumble into eachother on purpose. Where uber-eats drone deliveries buzz like flies to the shit-pile lifestyle. But real flies all died out from the toxic shit that shat out of every machine in the metro miles. So the association has long been lost to time.

But the alleys and the nooks between buildings are sacred filth chapels to reality of it all. Cooled from the global warming by the endless building shade and water main leaks. The great poison smog archs overhead like a Sistine fresco of neon reflections, and day-glow florescence of the concrete framed sky. The rigid gaps, blocks long, look like serendipitous breeze-shaped moments of stained glass scenes. And the Iridescent oil films in potholes are the holy water to a trashed mind like Road’s.

She finds sanctuary here, between jobs for johns, and from the ever oppressive heat of open streets.

But shes got to get back to fucking for her witch bitch black cat's cash quotas soon. Maybe you’re the next in line. Maybe she just takes the cash and runs… let her think about it a moment….