[@Carlsberg]

These days, twenty bucks wasn't much, but it was enough to help her get by.  True, she could have made more if she was a whore or a dope dealer in this god forsaken city, but if there was one thing Liz was never going to do...it was sell her soul to this rotten place.

She sighed, walking along the train tracks back to the smog and filth of the inner city, her guitar slung over her back and the cash she made today stuffed in the pocket of her frayed and tattered skinny jeans.  That should be suitable for more food, and maybe a bottle of Jack for her friend Mike.

Down on the storm drain below, where the river once flowed wild and free before urbanization raped nature and defiled her beauty, there seemed to be some sort of commotion, a bunch of cars, street rods and amped up classic muscle from the looks of them.  The illegal street racing circuit was big here in this city, that much Liz knew.  From time to time she did frequent some of the races.  They were exciting, the adrenaline rush, the feel of raw horsepower just inches away from you as it screamed by.

Her face was pressed against the chainlink fence, a curious gaze.  Then...she spotted someone out of the crowd.  Was that...her?

[color=6ecff6]"Jen?"[/color]