The air nipped her skin, causing an unfamiliar shiver to run down her spine. Not used to the temperature up north for she was from the south, where the coppers were neighbors in a small town and the largest hoosegow couldn't supply a single room's worth of the grifters in this apple. Back home the kittens cooked supper every night and their biggest worry was whether or not they'd make it to church on time.

It was a different world in this ice-cold hell of a place. She would admit in a heartbeat that she was wheat; the southern hospitality she was used to would get her killed at best if displayed here. She couldn't count the nightmares her peepers had witnessed since she'd made the trip. Goons ran the streets, wearing iron in every case. Watching from a distance, she observed grifters gumming the works non-stop. Meat wagons could be heard at all hours of the day and night as the kiss off occurred for the poor souls trapped inside. She didn't have to wonder what happened to a snitch. Speakeasies could be found around any corner, but God help you if you walked into the wrong one by mistake. Not to mention the sound of gold diggers and crumbs making whoopee in the back echoing out the windows, nearly choking out the smooth jazz beats.

In this place she was nothing but a moll packing a bit of heat, luckily enough she had a few aces hidden in her blouse. Cabbage paved the streets and the price one would pay for a slip of Cadillac was astounding. She was fairly good with chiseling the woodwork as she desired, and though it was all wet at the moment, the future was still yet to be determined. Then again, what with the drought, she wasn't completely convinced that a glassful of city juice wouldn't bring in a few more checkers than the drugs did.

Sometimes she thought about making tracks back home, but she knew that there was nothing left there anyways. Nothing but a big dust bowl. She just needed to shake a leg and start making a profit. Maybe then she could bring it back and put things back the way they were supposed to be. She'd never had the knack for staying in the shadows, but now was as good a time as ever to try. She just feared that over time she'd get every bit as sucked into this alternate reality as she could see the other people on these dirty streets had become. In their eyes was terror, arrogance, and a need to simply survive.

Stopping to light a snipe, her gaze drifted up to the streetlamp. They didn't have these back home. Then again, there was no reason for them. Even before the land had become desolate, everyone was stroking a fire inside the walls of their home by nightfall. But in this place, when darkness fell, the city woke up and the monsters that called this place home roamed free. Scary thought, but a babe had to do what was necessary to reach her full potential, and at the moment that meant resetting her sleep schedule.

Abercrombies had approached her time and time again, thinking to offer bits of advice to a looker. However, although she was behind the grind in her opinion for not already having mastered the way of the streets, she had disregarded these opinionated words for nothing more than a twisted judgment. She wanted the low-down, not these genius’ distorted sense of self-righteousness. So she’d heard of a place, and she wanted to check it out. Besides, she’d been feeling kinda lonely what with knowing all of nobody but the butter and egg man and even if she couldn‘t make friends, she could at least make acquaintances or perhaps even business partners. As she stepped up to the building, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Am I ever going to get used to this town?” she wondered to herself. Probably not. Taking a deep breath she walked through the doors to take a look around. She sat at the bar to order a drink, waiting for someone’s approach.

Francie steps around the corner and off the curb, looking at her surroundings suspiciously.  She just came out of the local theater with her date and a group of friends.  They had stepped into speakeasy as she headed toward her dreary apartment.

She was a bit of bearcat, but had informed her date that the bank was closed; He told her that she was Mrs. Grundy anyway.   She imagined that he would shoot the bull with the bluebloods and eggs, while getting an edge at the juice joint. 

He ended up being a flat tire anyway, so Francie just lit up a ciggy and went off alone.  The movie had made her a little edgy.  It was a horror film, and left her heart beating fast for no apparent reason. 

Not really watching where she is headed, Francie manages to run straight into a caper in the middle of the street.  Dead soldiers all around them, and each looking to give the other the bums rush.  One of them shouts out, “Hey doll, don’t take any wooden nickels.”  And then laughs hysterically at his own joke.  Francie checks her stockings for a shiv and her handbag for her piece, just in case.  She moves by quickly, not meeting their gaze.

Just as she is about to break into a run, she notices another small bar and decides to step inside for a drink by herself.