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Ahhh , this is the best thread yet .
I've met "Tony Montana" . He cruises the scummy part of town in a rusty duct-taped wheelchair , looking for girls younger than his daughter . He offers them salted mixed nuts from this glass mason jar he keeps by his side. A nice guy , really , been married a few times, once to a woman who kept 170 waist sized dolls in their one bedroom apartment, treating them better than her husband or real children . The conversations always begin sweetly enough but the lower the sun sets, the closer he gets to simply telling you that he wants you to fuck him in his wheelchair .
There is also Kenneth . He catches your eye hanging out under the lone lamp in the scuzziest of alleys , vigorously spinning this long baton....flinging it into the air, tossing it behind his back . A 'pharmaceutical technician' by 16 and an artist in the decades since , he'll comment on the beautiful night as you pass by and converse astrophysics as rats run over your shoes . He'd tell you that it was no coincidence that you turned away from the loud crowds of drunken youth into a lonely alley to receive his baton-twirling tips .
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