What if life [i]did[/i] have an ultimate purpose? What if their purpose was to entertain some greater being with the constant fuck uppery that went on here? What if Yoohoo chocolate milk wasn't actually milk? Dylan had a lot on his mind at the moment. All it was very important. He was, as per usual, drugged up and dopey. A big, goofy grin sat across his face as he pondered life. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling above him, and the Twilight poster that was taped up there. 

He was brought back down to Earth when a weight was suddenly lifted from him. The girl he was with climbed off the bed and went to pick her clothes up off the floor. Was she done already? How long had he been here? Dylan turned over and leaned down to grab his jeans off the floor. He pulled his phone out and checked the time: 8:00 PM. 
[i]You have one unread message.[/i]

He made a 'not my favorite' kind of face when he saw Amber's name above the text. 

[i]432 Harbor Dr, apartment 203. 
She has a box just inside the door. Change into whatever the fuck she's got in there before you go in the bedroom.[/i]

Dylan wondered what he would be this time. A firefighter? A burglar? A cowboy? Just as long as it wasn't another dead husband. Dylan heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, and took that as his cue to leave. He grabbed the money off the dresser and started putting his clothes back on. He headed out the door and began to make his way to Harbor Street. Dylan spent just as much time walking from place to place as he did in bed. He didn't mind, however; it gave him time to think. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit up. It wasn't a blunt like he would have liked, but Amber was pretty clear about how she didn't want him showing up to clients with red eyes and stinking like pot. He puffed smoked into the cool night air. If it was 8, his night had only just begun. 

Meanwhile, back on the southside, people were shutting and locking their doors. That is, if they were smart. Jack had no such luxury. He found himself out on the street, trying to get some quick cash to make up for the loss the gang had recent taken. Cops had busted one of their drug runners, taking thousands of dollars in drugs with them. The gang had been depending on that money to get new weapons. 

Jack lurked in the shadows of an old shack, watching as some hooker strutted her stuff out on the corner. She wasn't one of their's, he was sure. After watching her get picked up and dropped off several times, with no pimp in sight, he knew she had to have at least a couple hundred stuffed away somewhere. Although she looked small from where he was standing, he knew better than to underestimate her. A lot of pimps these days gave their girls tasers, or mace at the very least. Jack slipped on his sunglasses and scarf to cover his face. His hand settled on the gun at his side. 

He slowly crept out of the shadows, approaching the prostitute from behind. Without warning, he jabbed the barrel of the gun into her back. "Alright sweetie, no need to make trouble here. Don't do any stupid shit. Just give me the cash and you won't get hurt."