She struts down the sidewalk, brandishing her jutted shoulder blades,
so delicate compared to her feisty pout; those two pulsating lips redder 
than Virginia sunshine, redder than the cherry two-hundred eager men 
supposedly popped on the floor of her black and windowless apartment
as the lights flickered like dying fireflies in the white mansions of Palisades.
"Hey there, starlet," the would-be debauchers mumbled when they met her.
"Say there, starlet," the would-be debauchers said as they haggled to get her.