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More Editing Disorganized Crime

A family walked by, perfect traditional, what most would consider the dream family. The little boy looked at Ramon, the giant winked at him and the boy smiled. They walked away and Ramon turned his attention back to the river, a surge of guilt rushed through him, his heart ached, he knew he had killed fathers, mothers, uncles, maybe one of them was kin to this little boy. He got up, walked to the railing and looked down at the river. There was a group of small boats in the middle of the river and a coast guard cruiser glided up to them and all of a suddenly the river became crowded with the coast guard, police, and forensic officials. A crowd gathered on the bank. News crews and helicopters arrived it was a bloody circus. Ramon felt a little sad, these people were disturbing the resting place of his victims, Ramon saw the detective that Vince used for information, he did not want the man to see him so he did his best to blend into the crowd that was assembling on the platform next to him and quickly walked back to his car. Nobody else knew where or how he had disposed of his victims’ bodies this place was his personal cemetery, he felt he was safe from being discovered, this part of the river was the turf of Vince’s rival he had dumped the bodies of associates of Vince on this side so if anyone was to go down for the bodies it would be the rival crew.

 

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Ladies of the Night From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

There were lots of things about The Melting Pot City that fascinated me. For instance, the prostitutes. I had never seen that before so I took an interest in how and what they did. No, I did not indulge in their services. I am a people watcher. That is how I am able to write this fantastic book, right? We lived on Eastern Parkway between Utica and Rochester Avenues. Eastern Parkway was the biggest and busiest street I have ever lived on. I used to sit at the window and watch them, wondering why in the richest country in the world the women had to resort to this. They walked up and down the avenue in short dresses, uncomfortable high heel shoes and skirts so short you could see the beginning of their butt cheeks. Scores of cars with lonely men came and went. I mean, you should see them, looking around like cartoon characters, gripping their steering wheels, their eyes wide with lustful anticipation. I felt so sorry for these women. I wondered what they thought their life would be like. Were they victims of society or were they victims of cultural circumstances?

The most disturbing thing about this was that there was a pregnant woman out there. Car after car would pick her up. None of the men seemed concerned with her condition. I often wondered what sick bastard would take advantage of someone like that.  Our landlady would scream at them, calling them the worst names, as if they needed to feel any more degraded then they already were. My ex-wife and I felt compassion for them, so we let them sit on our car. They promised as long as they were there, no one would mess with it. That summer, with the constant complaints from the landlady, the cops chased them off. That very night, every car in a four block radius was broken into. Is it not sad how society, indoctrinated by judgmental ideologies, makes the people believe that these women were less than human? Truth is, their humanity was stripped by the same ideology that claimed to be virtuous. Just look at all the preachers and politicians who partake in the very same debauchery.