A new math

“I’ll trade you a slice of pie for a brownie.”
“You’re on man.”
The guy hands the other a greasy portion of a Little Caesar’s hot and ready for a section of brownie. They chew each other’s traded goods.
There is a bitch sitting across the way. Not more than 15 years old. On her neck is a hicky so pronounced you’d swear that a set of lips were tattooed there in bright purple.
A lolly pop rolls on to the street. The bus doors let it off like a fare paying passenger.
I sit, closing a distance.
The brownie trader grabs his bike off the front of the bus. “I’m getting off here.”
The bus driver shakes his head. The young girl in the wheelchair refuses to get strapped in. “I’m safe, just like someone standing.” She looks out the window. Her eyebrows form a triangular pyramid like she’s watching something sad. It’s just the street, downtown Jasper avenue.
Leathery masks of flesh stretched on top of skulls, clutching buckets of cat litter or an over-stuffed brief case, stinking.
Elsewhere the skimpy whores on the patio are selling Crantini’s for 8 dollars a pop.

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