A Job to Do.

Gets a paragraph on page eight.

"Do you remember their faces," he asked.

"Do you remember ours," she replied.

There's a side to the city that thrives on anonymity. It's the place folks go when they can't find what they're looking for anywhere else. They get what they came for. They come back for more. The only thing real is the change in your pocket and a handful of bills folded up at the bottom of her purse.

Monterrey, centro. Somebody is taking down those who run los masajes, one well-placed bullet at a time. Gets a paragraph on page eight.

The chicas still have bills to pay. The tipos still stand in the door. The sign outside says "UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT." And somebody still has a job to do.

BACK.

It hurts. It costs. La máquina no da cambio. MORE.