Coming Home

Today I interrogated the whores who work in the parking lot near my doctor's office. I asked if their lives have improved since the smoking ban went city-wide. Their answers weren't what I'd expected. A little white girl, no more then nineteen, came at me all fists and spit. She was screaming something about her mothers asthma and the divine wisdom inherent in the efforts of Homeland Security in the Bronx. I stepped out of her way, and settled her down with a quick blow to the back of the head using a piece of cinder block I'd been hiding in the lower leg pocket of my cargo pants. The lot cleared immediately, and I never got my answer. Looking up I realized, I'd never seen a bluer sky.