Morningside Cuesta [m] vieja

a seller of visions. she wanted to laugh, but knew better than to mock a man with such heavy jaws. he loomed over her, he and that terrible scar. her mouth was dry. male lust was easily handled; drain a suitor and he became malleable. she sensed no such waiting softness in her companion. the night came, and she almost choked as it began to sweep over them, over she and the man thrumming with a cold anticipation. "lo siento, señor," silvertongue sighed with an actress' polished emotion. "no tienes nada que quiera comprar." now then; fingers trembling on that handle; she wiped the rest of the drying muck from her shoulder, smiled a pleasant goodbye at juárez, and rose smoothly to leave — in the opposite direction of the qeya. of course.