Edge Walking. Chap 2: Help Wanted
#1 of Edge Walking
"Edge Walking"
By: Cauldron O Boyfur
Notes n' Warnings: While the city of Phurrydelphia contains the same streets and physical layout as the city of Philadelphia, some aspects are fictional. Claiming that certain neighborhoods in the story are high in whatever (crime, drugs, etc...) does not mean that I am making a statement of those areas in the real world. Also, the "Cha-Ching" is not a real business establishment. Nor is there any strip club or brothel on the corner of Cottman Avenue and Hanford St.
Chapter 2: Help Wanted
"Hey kid, you gotta buy something or get your ass outta here for good." The comment came from a bear, his fur soaked in the cooking grease which lead to Phurrydelphia's ever-growing obesity epidemic.
It was the second time Jamie used the rundown restaurant's unsavory restroom, as he still wasn't homeless enough to accept defecating in alleyways. Yet, he realized that this was a place of business, and the cook was doing exactly what the business entailed: Making money.
Jamie didn't feel particularly obliged to buy anything, but decided that he should get a drink for the sake of hydrating anyway. Walking up to the counter, Jamie got up on his tippy-toes to place his order. Counters were usually placed at a height which made bunnies on eyelevel with their tops. "I'll take a water, please." Jamie said the word like every other Phurry-born. "Wooter."
If body language could decree, "I'm gonna punch you in the face, kiddo," then the look that the cook gave Jamie was bellowing it. Jamie got the big guy's drift, looking to pacify things by saying, "You can charge me whatever. Just tap water with ice'll be fine."
There was a collage of mumbling from behind the counter, as the bruin ran the lime and rust encrusted spigot. Placing it on the ketchup and cheese stained counter, he said, "Two bucks."
Jamie's face fell as he looked at the flimsy paper cup. He then peered back up at the price sign overhead, and questioned the establishment's bizarre policy by asking, "How is a small water more expensive than a medium soda?"
"Because I focking said so." The bear had used Phurrydelphia's vicious pronunciation "focking," rather than the more polite "fucking," showing the he wasn't going to be civil about things. For a pinprick of a second, Jamie debated whether he should've changed his order to a medium soda, but decided that it would be best to just pay the greaseball and get the 'fock' out of the establishment.
Despite it being one of the city's more notorious sections for violent crime, Jamie had been slumming the past few days in the Hartranft neighborhood for one reason: Crack. It was a massive risk for a bunny to be in such an area, given the heavy-handed murder rate committed against them, but for some like Jamie, chemicals speak louder than logic.
While he had connections in the Germantown area, just a few blocks west, the sixteen year old opted to leave the area completely behind him, in favor of starting anew. Despite the fact that he had reliable sources with quality rock in the vicinity of his former home, Jamie was looking to escape the past completely, even if it entailed getting ripped off, or paying too much for an inferior product. Forging a new life truly was more important to him than even his beloved drugs.
It was on this particular day that a doorway of extreme change opened itself up for Jamie to walk on through. It started with the purchasing of the newspaper. When spotting the newspaper dispensers, Jamie's lips let out a rare smile. Although he had little interest in politics and the like, reading the newspaper was a tradition in Jamie's everyday morning life. This could be attributed to his natural curiosity, a curiosity to see what perplexing things were going on in the city, as well as the rest of the world.
Fifty cents. Out of the three hundred dollars he had stolen from his mother before leaving, it had all dwindled down to seventy-one cents. Two quarters, two nickels, a dime, and a penny. Jamie inserted his two quarters into the slot, as he would an arcade game, or a slot machine (though he'd yet to play slots in his life, this purchase would be a gamble which changed his fortunes forever).
Twenty-one cents.
He needed a job. There were no two ways about it. So, when taking the Phurrydelphia Daily News from the dispenser, he turned to the most logical section given the circumstances. The sports page. He couldn't help himself. Love of sports was another illogical disease which the particular city was afflicted with.
Baseball Scoreboards: New Yak Mets-8___ Phurrydelphia Phurries-3
Jamie shook his head for the bazillionth time in discouragement. The most losing franchise in all of sports was still marching ever onwards towards the unrivaled slop of 10,000 losses. 'Why does the most passionate fanbase have to suffer the cruelest of fates' he thought to himself, as he flipped to his new mission board: The Classifieds.
HELP WANTED! His eyes got worn down by those two words scrolled in copious amounts on the next few pages. No, no, no, no, not qualified, no, no, ewww people actually apply for that, no, no, too low paying, no, no, no, not qualified, no, no...
It seemed unbelievable to Jamie that he wasn't able to place himself into any of these thousands of listed job vacancies. His patience meter had fallen quite low, about to flip back to the front page to read the news in unquenchable poverty, when he spotted it. A cube, less than four inches long, with dwarf print reading:
MALE DANCERS WANTED. "Cha-Ching" Gentleman's club needs DancersNS. Great benefits & pay. Corner of Cottman Ave. & Hanford St. (Near Roo Mall). Must b 18
Though it was unclear to Jamie whether the 'b' before 18 was a typo, or just a means of conserving space, he was sure of one thing: DancersNS was not a typo. It was a legal way of implying, "We need you to a dance and prostitute for us." Such knowledge was well known. Though there was speculation as to what NS really meant (some claiming it to be "n' such", others claiming it to mean "n' sluts", with still others believing it code for "n' sleepers") its literal meaning was irrelevant. It was just a cryptic way of saying whorehouse, one which the police themselves were well aware of, but used as an alibi to act aloof (not only did some officers frequent these lounges during off-duty time, but there were also arranged payoffs made behind closed doors to ensure the joints wouldn't be busted).
Prostitution. On any other day, at any other time, in any other state of mind, the idea of selling his white, cottontailed, bunny-butt for cash wouldn't have a chance of lingering around in his thoughts for a fleeting second. But something, something almost unworldly, was tinkering around with the idea. Yes, money did play a part in it. Prostitutes, especially males, and especially bunny boys made an admirable amount of money, even after the pimp got his cut. But much more was going on in Jamie's mind. A vibe which permeated his flesh, an osmosis of spiritual sorts, which told him not to pass up this particular opportunity. A few times, Jamie's common sense tried kicking, saying to him, "Prostitute? What the fuck are you thinking?" But sense was losing the battle against this inexplicable desire to venture to Phurrydelphia's Near Northeast segment of the city, to go for this most bizarre of job opportunities which he probably wouldn't be accepted for anyway based solely on his being underage by two years to do so much as pole dance.
Oxford Circle section of the city. He'd be heading east this time, a lot further than he'd ventured thusfar since the exodus from his Germantown home. He figured that he had to have seen the place at least once in the past few years, as the Roosevelt Mall parking lot was an area he once copped amphetamines on a regular basis, off a schizophrenic cat he once met, recently placed in prison. It was odd that he hadn't taken notice of something like a male strip joint. His eyes were curious creatures, often going out of their way unintentionally to spot places in the city which never ceased to leave him bamboozled in amazement.
He'd have to walk. All night, unless he could hitch a ride. A bus was out of the question, with there being only twenty-one cents in his pockets. With the school-student-styled red backpack collaring his boney shoulders, the urban vagrant hare went on his way towards a potentially life-altering destination. He could've made his way blindfolded if he wanted to. He knew where he was going. He wasn't sure if it was his heart, inside the ribs, which served as his compass, or the six-pronged Star of David necklace which was entangled within his white-chested fur, but he was on right route to instigate his own, personal metamorphasis.