The Best Little Blow House In Nevada

Chapter 1

Holy fuckin crap, she whispered to herself, still tasting the semen in her mouth, despite the coffee, after singing and bar tending at a local shot and beer joint for what amounted to spare change and the occasional dollar from a furtive blow job in the alley. It’s not that she was actually good at it, blow jobs that is, only that she was willing to do it. If their wives only knew that half the time they messed themselves before she even got the thing in her mouth. With one guy all she had to do was give it a couple of licks and it was all over. Holy fuckin crap.

Well, apparently that last dollar was the lucky one. Maybe she should try to get him in the alley again, because for sure something about him was good luck for her. She needed to celebrate, that’s what she needed she thought to herself, heading out to get a box of wine, thinking she was living high. She also knew that it would be a huge mistake to think that now, because she was rich, she would start to matter, because really, and she knew this without any shadow of doubt, that life was a big fucking joke and hers amounted to pretty much nothing so far. The fact that she had just won a bundle proved the joke part. Never having had any, Julia understood the power of money. She also knew that hers was not the kind of life where dreams come true, so it was not unreasonable for her to check the lotto numbers no less than twenty times. Understanding that life is an unfathomably random high speed train ride, a persistent game of chance, Julia did not question her good fortune. It was as futile to wonder about good luck as it is to wonder about disaster. Maybe she should get a shirt emblazoned with shit happens.

Some people are born alone. Julia was one of those people. Her major goal to this point in her life had been survival. Not a small accomplishment considering that most of the time her life resembled blow back from a shit storm. Hers was a lonely, loveless and often dangerously violent childhood. She quickly learned to wield a cold logic. Five feet five inches tall and one hundred ten pounds of stubborn will, Julia had managed her way mostly alone and knew enough never to question anything, because as far as she could tell, there was no real reason for good or bad when it invaded a life. She had learned about reincarnation back when she still went to school once in a while. She figured that if her present life really was based on a past life, she must have been more than borderline evil back there somewhere. Well, at least things were looking up. It is what it is. That was her next favorite line. No one understood better than Julia that her life story had been mostly written by the time she was ten. Now, this, this miracle called the California lottery was going to change every future chapter.

Julia lived in the old homestead on a dead end street of less than shabby homes not that far from the stately mansions overlooking San Francisco Bay. Not far in distance that is, but it was several millennia away in terms of the gene pool and the concept of earning potential. Dilapidated was several rungs higher. The house looked forlorn and feral, a dying carcass rotting in the San Francisco fog, like the people in it. Most days it felt like a very private psych ward. A toxic remnant of failure. Just standing outside and looking at the house it gave the obvious feel of people who had been shunned by the human race. The yard was so neglected even the yellow from a patch of dandelions would have been a welcome splash of color, but the place was so toxic that weeds died from the roots up. No matter how much manure you put on it, something beautiful would not grow. An ice floe would have been more welcoming. The phrase needing a fresh coat of paint was about twenty years in the rear view. Since it was mostly falling down around itself, the idea of demolition was redundant. Even the dark of night couldn’t do anything to make the places look better. It was a seedy and dangerous patch of ground. No one was going to call the preservation society when it came time to knock them all down.

The first thought that crossed her mind was selling the old fucking house where she would always be a snot nosed seven year old getting whaled on by her brothers, who were three little men with Napoleon complexes always looking for a fight. They thought hitting her was pretty much fun and funny, as they were all just trying to survive each other and a life time of accumulating inadequacies. They were petty thieves, opportunistic, parasitic scavengers several jail terms beneath mediocre rather than criminal masterminds. She especially hated her oldest brother, Bobby, who was always strutting around with those creepy black Buddy Holly glasses without any lenses, because he thought they made him look cool, when in fact it just increased the bat shit crazy factor. He was the worst with his cold smile, dead eyes and Beatle haircut. He looked like a result of too much inbreeding. Hers was not the kind of world any one ever volunteered to live in unless you were into derailed carnival rides or S and M. Bobby claimed that after a particularly rigorous workout with dear old dad, he took so many blows to the head he began to hear voices, when the truth of the matter is he was pretty much always hearing his own demented music. Most nights she felt like the rabbit running desperately from the dogs and she wished them all dead so she could be the only child she longed for, except that would mean there was no one else between her and daddy dearests drunken rages. With all the brothers in her life to beat on he rarely got to her before he passed out most nights. So, if she had to admit it, being born last was a stroke of good luck. Everyone has one, right?

Of course, they all went to jail one at a time and daddy dearest did get to her eventually, but with another stroke of incredible luck, maybe there was more than one in a life after all, he had managed to pretty much drink himself to death by the time she was number one on the list. That left her with the dump of a house and a whole lot of nothing else…until now. Ok, it’s true, she did have the singing voice of an angel, maybe from being so well lubricated by all the seamen, though God knows she tried to never swallow any of it. Talk about empty calories. Mostly, she just slogged through from one day to the next, just trying to get enough to eat. Good thing she didn’t like most foods or keeping the cravings at bay would have been a serious issue.

Lying on her childhood bed, the mattress feeling mostly like it was stuffed with dry beans and rice, she thought about what she would do next. Maybe she’d use the money to open up a nice little whorehouse specializing in blow jobs. There’s nothing a man likes more than having a woman satisfy his needs without having to provide anything in return. That’s what she would do. Maybe buy one of those old mansions just outside of some half way decent sized desert town in Nevada where she heard prostitution was legal. It would have rooms with TV’s so men could watch the sporting event of their choice, because there are few things a man enjoys more than sports, beer, a burger and a blow job, not necessarily in that order. Football season should be very busy. There’s nothing like violence and all that huddle fanny patting to make a man horny. That was a valuable lesson she learned from her father and brothers. She would name it The Best Little Blow House in Nevada. They say it pays to advertise. She even giggled when she thought of a perfect logo. It would be the face of a woman with her lips in a great big open mouth pucker. Pretty much everyone should get the picture. Julia learned long ago that if you leave people to come up with their own idea of something, they’ll just screw it up. Maybe she’d even get a doctor for the place to give some of the guys their Viagra dose and dress the girls like high school cheerleaders, giving the perfect illusion of chaste yet promising. Just like real high school cheerleaders. Personally, she thought if you can’t get it up on your own it’s time to put it in the holster, but business as they say, is business. She would put in big mirrors behind curtains so the men could watch the entire experience unfold if they wanted. Some men liked the voyeur experience and what better voyeurism could there be than watching yourself get serviced? Men have millenniums of practice thinking with the wrong head. She had watched enough nature shows to know that the males of every species wanted sex everywhere all the time. Julia always figured that if there really was a God, he didn’t do men any favors by putting them at the mercy of their cocks.

Maybe she could rent space in one of the downtown casinos where you get to blow your money downstairs or get blown upstairs. Prostitution was illegal in Clark County where all the big casinos were, so if the owners were worried about breaking the law…this time, she could always go out into the desert and open a nice little place of her own.

While some girls would dress like cheerleaders the others would be well dressed and classy. There would be no scantily clad girls giving a quick dollar blow job in the alley, unless the client requested it, of course. Julia may not have been educated, but she did know men and she did know the sex trade. Some liked it down and dirty, but most liked to think they were not cheating or paying for the sex they couldn’t seem to get for free, so they preferred the higher classed experience. Then again, some men liked the smarmy feel of knowing they were being serviced by a prostitute. The motivation of men may all be different, but one thing was a constant, they loved a good or even not so good blow job. As far as a lot of men were concerned, the only useful woman was one on her knees.

With her brain working overtime on the future, she had to restrain herself from marching into the germ factory they called a bar that smelled like stale beer with more than a hint of an infrequently working toilet and quitting. She knew enough to wait until she collected her winnings first. Never leave something that sucks (no pun intended) for nothing at all was her motto or as her mama always used to say, never burn one bridge until you cross another.

Everyone was looking at her oddly when she went to claim her winnings, but she did absolutely not think she was over dressed. Immune to dignity, she felt that if winning the lottery didn’t qualify for her best polyester faux satin shocking pink rhinestone jacket, than what did? After all, it was why she bought the Bedazzler, so she could dress herself up now and then. She wore the jacket over a white blouse that had belonged to her mother. Black low ride jeans and her best pair of fuck me heels, which she had to admit had seen much better days, completed the outfit. Her heavily dyed and wispy dry, white blond free flowing hair with too long bangs that looked like needles sticking into her eye lids and large hoop earrings that dangled around her ears rounded out the Julia look. Truth be told, she looked like a tricked out Elvis Cadillac at a Las Vegas car show. The jeans and shoes were considered dress up attire in the neighborhood dive bar where she worked. Most of the men just shuffled along in sweat pants or well-worn work clothes.

She was a little disappointed in the total. In the end she only got eight million, which suddenly and bizarrely did not seem like that much money. It was a lot more than she had ever had by about eight million, but she thought she would get the entire twenty five. Once they explained that everyone else had to get paid out of the twenty five million including all the lesser winners, the ticket seller and, of course, the tax people it sort of made sense. She could tell the lottery people looked down on her when she claimed her money, but she didn’t care, she had eight million and they didn’t.

Chapter 2

Julia once again lay on the bed in her old wreck of a room staring at the ceiling. It was her thinking spot. Her immediate problem was what to do with an eight million dollar pay out. The more she thought about opening a blow job brothel the more the idea appealed to her. Being a madam sounded like the ideal job. She hadn’t been able to sleep at night since she was a kid listening for her fathers and brothers, so a nocturnal life was perfect. It was impossible to be vigilant and sleep at night too. She liked to think of herself as a fox prowling the post-midnight hours. She was young, just twenty-six, and the idea that she would just sit around doing nothing for the rest of her life was not appealing, she had too much restless energy for that.

The question was where? Since prostitution was legal in most of the state of Nevada, that did seem more appealing every day and the ideal place to start. Leaving California would not be a problem. Nothing good had ever happened to her here, except the lottery, of course, so getting out of this particular Dodge held no emotional complications. There was no one to leave behind.

She knew she would miss her mother though. She loved her not so much for who she had been to her, but what she represented. At least once a week, or sometimes more if she was upset, she would take the bus out to the cemetery and sit down on her grave and just talk to her. When she closed her eyes she could picture her and even hear her voice most days, though that was getting harder. She would replay the moments they shared, tell her the latest good or bad news and she always left when she saw her mother’s death. No good could come of remembering that again.

Julia lovingly swept the debris from her mother’s grave and placed a huge bouquet of red roses upon it. She sat down, like she always did, for a nice long visit. She told her mother everything that had happened with the lottery and how the people looked down on her. It was a sensitive area for Julia, always feeling as if she was less than most other people. She cried like a baby when she told her mother she was leaving for Nevada.

I remember you always sayin that some bridges you cross and some you burn. Oh, Mama I know I’m crossin a big one when I leave here, I just hope I’m not burin the one back to you at the same time.

Julia knew other people in the cemetery were looking at her, but she didn’t care. This was her last time with her mother for maybe forever and she needed to tell her everything, including how much she loved and missed her. When she was finished, she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, kissed the headstone and walked away without looking back. She knew that if she hesitated for even a moment, she would probably lay on the grave forever.

Julia put all of her worldly possessions into a battered single suitcase that she found for a dollar at the Goodwill. She had very few clothes as they were really a luxury in her life. The only truly personal thing she owned was a photo of her mother when she was still in her teens. It was an anomaly in the house as none of the rest of them had ever been immortalized in pictures. Julia preferred to believe it was a money issue rather than a lack of caring.

She left without a single look back at the house, leaving all that squalor behind was hardly an issue. She felt no need to try and imprint its image on her mind in one last moment of regret. She was just hoping that someday she could successfully push delete and erase it forever.

Chapter 3

Julia got on a bus and headed to Las Vegas. She had no idea where she was going, but she was resourceful and would figure it out when she got there. She could have driven, if she knew how or had a car, but absent those two necessities, the buses ran several times a day. The ride gave her the time to think carefully through her plan. What she needed was one of those financial planner guys. She wanted to make sure she didn’t waste all her money. She would have to put some of it away just in case the whole business thing didn’t work out. She would also need to talk to someone about where to buy some legal blow job property. She didn’t want to get into trouble and blow the whole thing. Once again, no pun intended. She wanted to let the business make money for her.

Julia got off the bus tired and excited. She asked a cab driver to take her to a decent yet inexpensive hotel. She had always been poor and the idea that she was no longer scraping for every morsel was not part of her DNA. She wasn’t about to waste any money on frivolous expenditures now. She paid cash for a week’s stay and thought about how to find someone to help with her money.

Since the name of a money guy wasn’t exactly tripping off the tip of her tongue she got out the old phone book in one of the drawers in the hotel room and went to the yellow pages under financial planners, closed her eyes and pointed. Ok, well then it seemed like she had a plan. She called the number.

Good morning. James Wilson and partners, financial planners, how may I help you?

I thought this was Albert Philips?

I’m sorry, that was a couple of years ago. Mr. Phillips has passed and Mr. Wilson runs the business now.

He any good?

Well, we’re still in business ma’am. May I help you with something?

Well, ok then, I got me some money to invest and I need to make an appointment with Mr. Wilson. Since there was nothing to be gained or lost by talking to the guy she thought what the heck.

Well, Mr. Wilson has a full client list, but I can refer you to an associate and give you and appointment on next Friday.

You tell Mr. Wilson I want only the boss. I just won me eight million in the lottery and I don’t want to be screwin around with no associates.

There was a long hesitation. Ok, let me check with him.

Julia was on hold so long she almost hung up.

Mr. Wilson can see you this afternoon at three. Is that good for you ma’am?

Yeah, that’s good.

I need your name please.

Julia, Julia Smith.

Well, she thought, nothing like waving eight million in front of someone to get immediate attention. She thought maybe this being rich thing may just work out for her.

Julia wore her second best polyester faux satin shocking blue rhinestone jacket for the appointment. She had found both jackets at the Goodwill a couple of years back and figured they would be perfect if there was ever any occasions she would have to dress up for. Sometimes back at home she would put them on and admire her bedazzled self in the mirror, hoping that sooner or later she would have occasion to wear at least one of them and now she had occasions to wear both within a few days of each other. Her ship was definitely coming in.

Julia was more than a little annoyed that the tall, icy, blond bitch at the reception desk gave her a long, cold stare with her cold blue eyes. Miss Smith, she said giving Julia a barely disguised once over. Mr. Wilson, will be with you shortly.

Julia sat in the plush chair feeling small and intimidated. She looked around at the tastefully decorated reception area and wondered just what she was doing here. There were vases of flowers on all the tables, lovely pictures on the pale mauve walls, and magnificent floor to ceiling widows that looked out at the bustling city. She was thinking about leaving when the superior bitch told her, with barely disguised disdain, Mr. Wilson, will see you now. Julia wondered why a receptionist would think she was better than her.

Mr. Wilson blinked and looked surprised for a moment before rising and offering Julia his hand. He was probably about six feet, with very good hair, nice hands and long fingers. Julia had to grin to herself. She was always sizing up the client, so to speak. It had been her experience that finger length was a pretty good indicator of cock size. She knew there were those that said it was shoe size, but Julia found that yardstick to be unreliable. How do you do, Miss Smith? he smiled warmly. My receptionist tells me you’re a big lottery winner and are interested in investing your winnings. Is that true?

Julia took a deep breath, somewhat surprised by Mr. James Wilson’s dark good looks, penetrating brown eyes, kind gentle demeanor and soft voice. She had always pictured money guys to be short and stubby with pale complexions from staying indoors and playing with their investments. Mr. Wilson had a suit jacket, navy blue pin stripe, on the back of the chair. His gleaming white shirt cuffs were neatly rolled half way up his forearms, giving the impression of a man hard at work. He was wearing a very serious dark blue tie. Rimless glasses lay on the desk next to a bottle of half consumed water. What was it about this place that made her feel small and unimportant? Oh, that’s right she remembered. They were the right people and she wasn’t. The office was decorated in many shades of wealth. A substantial wooden desk, with two computers and several phones took up the center of the room. Behind the desk were more floor to ceiling windows. On the wall to Julia’s right was a TV tuned to the stock market. Since she couldn’t hear any sound, she assumed it was on mute. To her left, Julia saw a massive bookcase with more books than her old school library. She didn’t doubt that Mr. James Wilson had read them all.

Yes, that’s true. Julia hesitated for a moment as she eyed at him carefully. Is that really your whole name on the door? James Robert Wilson the fourth?

Wilson looked down at the desk for a moment and smiled. Yes, it is.

Wow! That’s a heavy burden name you got there sir.

Wilson raised his eyebrows a moment. I guess it is. I’ve never thought of it that way before.

I mean when you got a name like that people are expectin big things from you and it certainly looks like you delivered, grinned Julia looking carefully around the room.

I guess I did. Would you like some coffee or tea? My receptionist can bring you anything you would like.

Julia stared at him and regained her footing. Well, I would love to have that cold witch wait on me, that’s for sure, so yeah some coffee would be good.

Was Allison unkind to you in some way, Miss Smith?

No, not really, she just gave me the look. You know the one that says I don’t belong and a snooty voice.

Well, I’m sorry if you got that impression. I will speak to her. All clients are welcome here. He pushed a button and spoke softly. Miss Smith would like some coffee, Allison.

Julia could feel herself grinning in triumph.

Now, how may I help you?

Well, as I told Allison, I won me eight million in the lottery and need to invest it.

"What did you have in mind? Anything specific?’

Well, I need some of it to open a business and then I wanna let the rest of it make me more money.

I’m sure I can help you with that. What kind of business were you thinking of?

I’m gonna open a whore house specializin in blow jobs. Allison walked in just as Julia was saying blow jobs and the look on her face was more than priceless. Julia laughed loudly. "Thanks for the coffee, Allison."

She barely recovered enough to mutter, You’re welcome.

Mr. James Wilson stared at Julia for a long minute. You’re serious?

As a heart attack, sir. There’s good money in blow jobs. Men like them better than almost anythin else except maybe sports. It’s a good idea.

Mr. Wilson cleared his throat. I’m sure it is. Wouldn’t you prefer to just enjoy your winnings?

You mean just lay around all day doin nothin?

I guess, something like that.

No thank you. I gotta do somethin with my time. I get bored easy. I don’t like lettin too much grass grow under my feet. I thought about it a long time, Mr. Wilson, so if you won’t help me then I’m sure there’s someone out there that will.

No, no, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you invest. It’s just that, well…

I’m your first madam.

Wilson took a deep breath. Indeed you are.

Well then, lucky for you. You got a new experience.

He smiled hesitantly. Yes, apparently I do.

You don’t approve of my future business do you, sir?

Um, I just never thought women were things to be bought and sold.

Well, they do get rented a lot though don’t they? she grinned widely. Besides, I ain’t gonna be buyin or sellin anyone. I’m just be rentin…by the hour, she grinned. All my girls will get paid good and they can come and go as they want. I ain’t no pimp. The girls are gonna want to do the job.

Ok.

So, smiled Julia, I was thinkin of buyin a place out in the desert, somewheres along a main road, so it will be easy for everyone to find. A pretty big place, because I’m expectin a lot of clients.

Ok, do you need me to help you find something?

That would be swell. I mean I could just go out there and look around some, but that seems like it would take a long time and I want to get started as soon as possible. She grinned mischievously.

Of course, you do, he sighed. I’ll look at the real estate listings and see what’s out there. Meantime, where have you deposited your winnings so we can get started on some kind of investment and determine how much a place in the desert will cost.

Julia pulled the check out of her purse. I got it right here.

They gave you a check? Don’t they usually just direct deposit this kind of money?

Well, I ain’t got no bank account so I told them I needed a check. They weren’t none too happy, but that’s what I wanted and the winner’s always right, she grinned.

Um ok, then. Let’s go to the First Nevada just down the street and get an account opened for you. Shall we?

Julia smiled coquettishly. Sure. My own bank account. Wow! I am comin up in the world.

Mr. James Wilson smiled softly. You certainly are. He rose gracefully, carefully rolling down his sleeves and put his glasses in a case in an inside pocket of his suit coat. Shall we? he asked politely opening the door for her.

Julia giggled girlishly. I don’t never get too many doors opened for me sir. It’s quite the hoot.

Jim Wilson smiled softly as they headed into the reception area. I’ll be out for a little while, Allison. Miss Smith and I are headed to First Nevada, but I’ll be on my cell if anything vital comes up.

Julia couldn’t help but notice the sour look Allison gave them as they left. Julia gave her a little wave of triumph which just made Allison purse her lips in some sort of righteous indignation.

They were waiting for the elevator when Julia turned to him. It’s pretty hot outside for that suit coat.

I’m used to it, he replied softly.

You don’t much like to be without your uniform, do you sir?

Jim Wilson looked down at himself for a brief moment. Huh, I’ve never thought of it that way. No, I guess I don’t.

It lets everyone out there know you’re successful, don’t it?

I don’t think that’s my intent, he smiled as they got on the elevator.

Julia winked. Sure it is now, Mr. Wilson. I don’t blame ya none. If I was rich and successful like you I’d want everyone to know it too.

He smiled down at Julia. You are rich.

That I am, she giggled happily. That I am, but I am not successful…yet, but I surely plan to be.

They walked down the street for a few moments before Mr. Wilson turned to her. You know, you need a permit to operate a brothel in the state of Nevada, right?

I didn’t know, but now I’m hopin you can help me with that too.

I’m afraid that’s out of my area of expertise, but I’m sure I can probably find someone who would be willing to help.

Oh, good. I just closed my eyes and pointed to your name in the yellow pages, but it would probably be better if you steered me toward an expert who could help with that particular issue.

Yes, he said with a slow smile. That’s absolutely true.

They took a few more steps before Mr. Wilson cleared his throat. "Ah, I was wondering why you want to, I don’t know, let’s say specialize in oral sex?"

I already told you. Men love BJ’s. There’s no messy emotion or commitment.

I see.

Don’t you agree?

I can honestly say, Miss Smith that I have never once in my life thought about it.

Well, don’t you like a good BJ?

Jim felt himself blush as he searched for words. Uh, actually, I prefer the traditional sexual encounter.

Julia stopped and turned to face him for a moment. Well, aren’t you quite the Romeo then? You know sir, the sex trade is profitable because it’s an addiction.

Sex is an addiction?

Yes sir, it most certainly is. Men are the only things I know that will pay thousands of dollars some times to have someone do something to them they could just as easily do themselves.

Oh, ok, he said uncomfortably. Well, before I leave you at the bank make sure you give me a number where we can reach you and your cell number.

I don’t have a cell phone.

Jim hesitated a beat. Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say those words before.

Never had the money, plus all them new-fangled phones look too complicated for me.

I doubt anything is too complicated for you, Julia, he smiled kindly. Well, here we are. No one was more relieved than James Wilson that they had finally reached the bank. Julia was aware that almost everyone was staring at them as they entered. They were the stares of disapproval with which she was more than familiar. The kinds of stares that just made lift her chin in defiance. Jim talked to a man behind a desk for a moment and then they waited a nano second before the bank president himself came out to greet them.

Hello, Jim, nice to see you, he grinned politely as they shook hands. My mortgage guy said you needed to see me.

Well, Al, this is Miss Julia Smith. Julia this is Al Langdon.

Pleased to meetcha Mr. Langdon, smiled Julia shaking hands.

What can I help you with?

Well, Julia here is big lottery winner and has a check for eight million dollars she’d like to deposit.

Julia saw Mr. Langdon swallow. She smiled to herself. Yup, everyone has a tell. She learned that playing poker in the bar. Julia considered herself somewhat of an expert at reading the little body movements of others. It had helped insure her survival all these years. The men talked for a moment as Mr. Wilson told Mr. Langdon what was needed.

Ok, Julia, I’m going to go back to the office now. Mr. Langdon will take care of you and I’ll be calling in a couple of days to give you the details of your accounts.

Thank you Mr. Wilson, she smiled handing him her number at the hotel. If you call they will put you through to my room and if I’m not there there’s one of them red buttons on the phone that blinks when I have a message.

Jim smiled politely. I will do that. He put out a hand to Julia. It was nice meeting you and I’m sure we will have a profitable relationship.

Thank you Mr. Wilson. I hope we do, cause this here is all the money I got in the world.

I promise I will take really good care of it.

Once Julia left the bank with a check book, savings account and debit card that a teller was kind enough to take her outside to the ATM and teach her how to use, she marveled at how far she had come in just a few short days. She now had all of the trappings of any respectable person with extra money. To say it was a first in her life would be an understatement. Up until this moment, Julia had paid everything in person and in cash. No bank gives anyone a savings or checking account without first having a substantial deposit, which she had never had. Plus, the cash society worked for her. It was never a problem figuring out how much she had to spend, which most of the time was zero once the bills and necessities were taken care of.

Julia walked around for a long time, just taking in the sights and sounds of the city. She got on a bus and headed for the strip, which she discovered was within a long walking distance of her hotel. It was an amazing place, full of life and a never ending supply of drunks and homeless people. It took her a few moments to figure out how to get across the street never having seen a pedestrian over pass before. She may have lived in San Francisco all of her life, but when it was time to cross the street she just went to the corner and walked across. The overpasses gave her a breathtaking view of The Strip. Well, it was breathtaking to her. There was so much pedestrian and auto traffic. San Francisco was a busy city, but nothing like this. She found herself just standing on one over pass after another until she got her fill. The sheer number of homeless people, many of them veterans, begging or selling cheap water on the over passes stunned her. Their faces held the empty look of people for whom life has always been a chore, sealed by generations of hunger and scrimping for even the barest necessities. Julia understood them. They were people who watched their dreams turn to anger and then a fatalistic stoic acceptance. These were people for whom