Words: neck, strings, pickup, fret
From the shadows, the g-string bikini dames, with there plastic breasts and high heel shoes, sauntered near their nooks, winking at suitors driving their uptown wheels. The johns would parked along side them, touting greenbacks or smack in return for pleasure.
The cold and rainy night kept only the hungry on the streets. It was near four when a drunk in a beat up pickup truck pulled up to one of the freshly, seductive hustlers. The odd ball driver fretted in silence after she made her pat. Then, from out of the shadows, a lone police squad car pulled up behind the truck and ordered the driver, through loud speakers, to step out of the car. The stupefied man jolted and stepped on the gas; careening away from trouble. A high speed pursuit ensued. Within minutes the truck crashed into a parked car, ricocheting into a cement pole killing the driver straightaway.
The morning rush hour was at a near standstill because of the episode. At the impact point police sirens, traffic conductors, helicopter medics, and the normal bunch of rubberneckers (rolling slowly along) was all that remained of the night before.
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