A Neon Rattrap - Part 1
At three A.M. the burning sets in. A new sensation in a new location to keep me awake for another hour or at least until the pain fades. Rubbing the dead skin and pungent fungus from between my smaller toes for the past twenty minutes finally reached a raw level of irritation. Pleasure or satisfaction slipped quickly into an uncomfortable ache, which has catapulted itself into the current throbbing flame that exaggerates the wrinkles between my digits.
My self induced insomnia which frequently betrays me with my attempted, and also self induced, narcolepsy keeps me at bay from forgetting my primary task at hand. I’ve been charged with finding the secret behind Wormwood. Unfortunately for me that’s the only information I’ve been given. The cynic in me temps perusing the phone book for high profile men with small peckers – but my jobs are never as easy as I presume they could be.
If history is any indicator (and when isn’t it?) I am not the only stooge that’s been put on this case. There are at least four other Agents working this gig, and only one of us gets paid when the “package is delivered”. This job has become more and more difficult over the past few years with the central migration happening coupled with the decreasing number of men in general, with the stones enough to look in the dark places that people swear they would never dare enter. These are the same holes that all citizens of New Chicago find themselves making pilgrimages to in search of their transgressionary fixes.
New Chicago is a rattrap that gives a pretty good masquerade during the day of legitimacy – while at night she gets freaky. Offices close up shop and become mausoleums after dark whereas the rest of the night-driven burg comes to life fueled by faded neon marques and terrible false promises. The latest generations of men have feminized losing most of their muscle tone, in mass anyway. Sex is a cold commodity available around any corner, up every alley, and commonplace on every tabletop and pinball machine. The real money is in satisfying the urges of the rich. Of course this is a synonym for ‘receiving or delivering more discomfort than humanly acceptable’.
Sliding into my boots I have decided to step out into the gaping sweaty maw of the city. The other Agents on the job use the same contacts that I do, and I need to visit them first. My opponents in this match are more persuasive than I am – which is to say they don’t mind getting their hands a little bloody while ordering lunch. What’s a little competition between friends though?
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