The Prostitute and the Homeless Man.

She wanted to bum a cigarette and he wanted to get a blow job, they traded.   It was one of the few perks when you lived on the street.  She injected too much meth into her system that she had forgotten where she lived, how many kids she had.  He had drank so much lighter fuel that he didn’t even know what city he was in.  It was a partnership they could live with.  A mutual friendship for when they could remember who each other was, which for most parts was every other Tuesday.   Peach, the name the prostitute now goes by, spends every night on Yonge Street.  People more often than not would look at her with disgust, her pubic hair would be often on show.  High fluorescent heals, badly put on make-up and a walk what was motivated with her next fix, made it all too obvious her profession.  She liked it that way.  Or at least she would if she had any sense of time or thought. 
Bradley had lost his job, then his family, then his friends, and with each lost he pushed people further away, asking for sympathy for his misfortunes but never quite realising that he needed to help himself first.  He was too clear that he wanted to be saved without ever wanting to put in the effort.  So he spiralled out of control.  Spending his nights either in a warm cove in front of a shop or if he was given enough charity he’d spend a night in the web cafe watching porn, and if he was feeling like he needed a change, gay porn.
They were vermin to everyone but themselves.  They were getting by, and as far as their logic stretched they wasn’t much else other than suicide or an overdose, maybe even murder.  And none were really too out of thought.  Everything was a possibility when the bottle was empty and the needles had run dry.  It would be more of a thrill if everyone wasn’t so real when sober.
Bradley had gotten Peach a gift, it was there three year anniversary as friends.  He had lifted a sachet of meth from a sleeping bum, it was risky but thoughts of risk and consequence were second to impulse for him.  He saw Peach walk out of a Chrysler 300c.  Knowing she would be in a good mood from having a job in such a good work environment he thought now was the time to give her his present.
‘Sorry sugar, I’m on a break. Come back in a lit... Oh Bradley!! Hiya sweetie, how you doing? It’s a nice night, eh? That jerk-off didn’t even pay. Fuck him!’.
‘Err... Hi Peach.   I’ve... I... I forgot’.
‘Whatcha doing now? Wanna spark up?’
‘Oh wait I remember’.
‘Well spit it out baby, I’ve got to get five more dicks off tonight or else I can’t pay Kevin.  You know he gets upset,  I’ve still got a bruise...’.
‘I’ve forgotten..’. 
‘Well nice seeing you Bradley, speak soon.   Love you!!’
Bradley went into his pockets to pull out his pouch of rolling tobacco and noticed a bad of meth his his palm.  He had no idea how it got there.    Having forgotten what he was doing and who he was talking to he went to sleep in front of a shop, it was sheltered just enough so that he wouldn’t be kicked by passersby.
Peach had just had a fight with a customer.  Upset that she hadn’t been paid, and that no one was looking interested in her she began to ‘eye’ customers, an act where she grabbed a males groin and asked upfront if they wanted a fuck.  If she wasn’t as spaced out as she regularly was she might have found it surprising how many men she accosted said yes to her.  Men were easy to manipulate, easy to say yes to temptation.  The ones who would say no were either too innocent, too nervous, or aimed to take a moral high route who later regretted it.  There were the occasional person who didn’t like the idea of paid sex.  Then there was always the men who thought like that then quickly changed their mind.  It was just what happened on Yonge Street, morality wasn’t a noun known to people here.
A police car pulled up outside a fast food restaurant that was surrounded with the debauchery of humanity on a nightly basis.  One man in particular stood out to the cops that night, he was confronting every person who tried to enter the building, blaming them for stealing his meth.  He was confrontational but he hadn’t yet threatened anyone physically, not yet.   Word was beginning to spread about Jake’s actions.  Peach thought she had heard he was offering free meth out, to anyone who was going to that restaurant.  So has she approached she offered a quickie for a shot of meth, Jake on hearing meth assumed she had stolen it while he was sleeping.  He grabbed her by the throat, tightly gripping her, suffocating her.  She found it hard to breath.   All she could think about was how nice it would be just to get high.  Bradley was masturbating over a picture in brochure for a senior citizens home.   In the distance he heard a lot of noise, it was putting him off and he could no longer come.  As he went to investigate the police had Jake in a car, he knocked on the window and waved, Jake waved back.  Peach was bruised and suffocating on the floor and he showed her the meth he had found in his pocket.  She smiled as the police car drove away.  And the end of the night they wished each other a happy anniversary.  They woke up together oblivious to each other.  Bradley opened a bottle of Moosehead, he was unsure where it had come from.  Peach stayed sleeping, she was groped a few times but wasn’t harmed.