Something that made it worthwhile were the foxes we would see in the streets. If we made it past the whores we saw on 3rd Street, unscathed we were basically home free. So we would celebrate with two or three bottles of the driest, most face-puckerin blood of Christ that we could find. The fox brought street tacos, burgers, donuts, and pizza to the nursing vixen every night. We couldn't see her because she made her den in the streets drain system. We saw her a couple times, her breasts swinging from left to right with every swift, silent step she took, but  seeing a nursing fox that you're looking for is like seeing a fox you're not looking for. It doesn't happen.

            One night we saw the dog slide down the drain with half of a corned beef sandwich in his mouth.

               - "Isn't she so lucky?" you asked.

         I areed. "She is an extremely lucky animal."

        We broke up two days later.