“Excuse me,” it was the Chihuahua girl, bobbling her head with soul. “Do you know you just littered up Alaska?”
Instinct drove him to turn away from the noise, escaping the high pitched whines; he entered into the first building that was in front of him. The five Star Building had been a dance hall in the days when Creek Street had been a symbol of sexy rebellion. Ketchikan had outlawed the brothels within the city, creating a dilemma for the men who wanted the ladies of the creek to continue service. Thus, the service-seeking men found a solution. In the day, the creek defined the city limits, so the men drove their piling and built a street over the creek, making the fun-love legal again. Now the Five Star served a different kind of dish; Dabs walked into a cloud of grease. A lady stood behind the counter; her hair stood electrified by the grill’s heat. A cigarette burned between her lips, collecting a faltering tower of ashes.
“You, want chili or what?”
Watching the ashes flake of into the pot she was stirring, Dabs said, “No, actually I was looking for a room to rent.”
Life flickered in her eyes, “for the summer or year-round.”
Dabs blew on the flames, “year-round of course.”
The cigarette flew into the sink, while the lady grabbed a clipboard. She feathered her grey hair back with her fingers. “Let me show you the cutest little place.”
The bubbles that came out of the woman flabbergasted Dabs.
She addressed the formalities, including her name, which was Edna; all before he could say anything. “I think this apartment will be perfect for you.”
Edna led him through a narrow staircase. The apartment was a room with a kitchenette and bathroom. Judging from the fixtures and the paint, Dabs defined the place as old, not quite quaint in an art-deco fashion, but rather dilapidated in a water-stained way. Edna tried to open the window, noticing her struggle; Dabs went to assist. In his hands, the window slid open like the loose legs of a call-girl. The breeze caressed Dabs into the Creek’s view.
Reaching into his fat pocket, he asked, “How much?”
She massaged his arm. “Why don’t we talk downstairs?”
By the time, Dabs had stepped into the cafe, Edna had assumed the posture of an elder toiling with a window, as Dabs approached her, she stepped aside; the window relented to his hands allowing a gust of wind to cleanse the environment.
Edna’s eyes glistened with the possibilities. “I have a proposal for you.”