The man kept walking a fast pace. He glanced with a quizical look at her when she asked what city she was in. "Alex City." he said, with rather confused aire. "For east outskirts. You should really these things." He then again looked straight ahead.
"Don't do drugs.....Whatever you say." he said, doubtingly.
"Is nice to meet you, Turi." he said, trying to sound sincere. "It's no problem at all. Just keep up. I can't be late. I'm Roger."
The long street was filled with small, three story concrete tenmants. In alleys, homeless men sat miserably among piles of old trash.
There were people scattered along the street, either walking or talking in groups, most of them men.
Near what looked like it used to be a small shop, a group of young men and women had congragated, and were listening intently to a man in what appeared to be either a military or police uniform.
The long street stopped abruntly, giving away to a field. It was apparently the end of the city. There was only piles of trash and a scattering of small shacks in the field, and other than that, it lay empty, save a small dirt path leading to a low hill, on which was a large, sprawling factory complex, with concrete warehouses, and a massive central building, with smokestacks pouring out thick black smoke.
Roger walked down the path, and up the hill to the large metal doors of the building. Pushing them open, it revealed a hallway with an empty security desk.
In front of this desk, a number of uniformed security guards, armed with metal trecheons, sat on flimsy plastic chairs,some reading, listening to a small radio.
"Your late, idiot." said one, looking up from a newspaper, on which the headline read "Victory in the West". The papers name was "The Dominion Voice"
"Shut up." said Roger, as he walked past them to the security desk, where he reached over to punch in his card, before continuing down the hall through another set of doors.
The next room was a massive assembly floor. Hundreds of men were hunched over conveyor belts, vats and machines, while other ran around carrying buckets of chemicals or with armfulls of tools.
Near the opposite wall, obscured by the sea of people, a man burst into flames and began to scream. Another man, as though doing something he had done before, grabbed a fire extinguisher and covered the man in a cloud of foam. This incident did not seem to draw much attention from the other workers.
Roger walked to a small storage room, wherein were many tools and buckets, aswell as several fire blankets and fire extinguishers.
"You can stay in here. I'd stay away from those guys, espicially near the break. There crazy. I'll get you some food at the break, and then I take you to the station, and they might be able to help you out." and with that, he left, shutting the door softly.
wichita wrote:"What is going on here?"
Music could be heard in the distance. Someone was playing something loudly.
In the middle of the road, people walked or talked. The people parted as a truck rattled by,unpainted and rusting, it's muffler obviously long gone.
The street, although full of potholes, had been paved, although how long ago one could only guess.
On either side of the streets, large apartement buildings loomed, casting dark shadow over the street in it's entirety.
The cold body of a man lay at the edge of the alley, cluthching a syringe.
Loud cursing could be heard as a man rounded the corner into the alley. He had black skin, about six feet tall, with short curly black hair, and around his neck was a piece of steel industrial chain that appeared to be acting as a necklace. He wore pants shorts that went only slightly past his knees, held up by a cheap false leather belt, from which a steel tire iron hung, and wore a basketball jersey that said “AC True SouthSiders”.
He was looking down at the body of the man, seeming rather upset. Glancing up at Mark, he said “Hey, how you doing, buddy?” and then called to someone to come over, before crouching over the body and examining it.
“You shooting up with this guy?” he asked Mark.
west wrote:
Ah well. He'll figure it out.
People were gathered in the dark street outside the alley, in front of a small shop that looked a lot like a seven eleven, except that it had two a story above it, and was flanked on either side by two large six story apartement buildings.
Music pounded from a speaker system in the crowd, and a few peoples voices could be heard above all the others. Someone was giving a performance in the street. The vocalists voice was unclear, muffled by the people around him, but it could be made out.
“……..Tout it,
But without it,
Y’ain’t nothin’, are yah kid?”
Most of the people outside were men. The street was near empty, with the exeception of the crowd. Only a few people walked along, most seemingly going home or to work. At the left end of the short street, there was a much larger street, wherein a crush of people, on foot, on bicycles, in cars, fought threw the traffic, trying to get to wherever they were going.
Many people in the small crowd were sporting sky blue bandanas on their heads or in there back pockets.
A man appeared in the alleyway. He was white, had short blond hair, wore a large brown leather trench coat. He glanced passively at John, said “Hey man. Don’t mind me.” He then pulled out a long kitchen knife and began slicing over bags of trash, sifting through them and taking whatever it he thought might fetch a few cents. He seemed rather intent on his task, and paid no attention to Johnny.
The music muffled music stopped, to the disdain of the small crowd, who then spread out into small groups along the street, and began talking amongst themselves, or going out onto the larger street, looking for something to do.
Several men, who were at where the center of the crowd had been, also sporting light blue bandanas, and who wore overly loose clothing, could be seen pack up three speakers, a tape player and a microphone into two kit bags, winding wire, while one of them did nothing, looking, looking around, as though making sure nobody tried to make a running grap at one of what appeared to be regarded as highly precious by the small group (that being the speakers.)
Sorry this took so long. I’ve been rather sick today.