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Dilapidated storefronts like weathered book
ends to an otherwise seedy dive. Thick
smoke and haughty jazz seeping in the back
alley, a far too appropriate sign.
He doesn't want much, and nobody shares
the good stuff anyway. Squatting in
squaller, peeking through the peep hole,
wanting just a glimpse of the girl.
Tip toed, all the boy can see is red, not the
full shot, just the flavour. A nickel in the slot
was all it took to have his way, and he
always gets the rest at the drive-in when
the show's over.
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