Cartio D'or

Chips

I walk fast, the wind becoming brisker in protest as I push through it. Make way for the Siren, a voice jibes in my head. That was what people would say when they saw Steph clicking her way towards them. The thought gives me a dry chuckle now - no matter how blue Steph's blood could get, Cartio wasn't the man he used to be. He knew it, too.

I take another left, and the streetlights start to bounce off smartly tiled pavements, wide and untrimmed. The distant sounds of fairground music begin to flit through the air, along with slight snatches of garish lights casting their shadows in the night. I pass an exit, busy streets clamouring to the side, and continue past the backs of hardware stores and off-licenses, their backs dappled a golden grey.
Shapes move in the corners now - a man and his pipe in a rocking chair, a couple of hookers talking loudly through mouthfuls of smoke. I look away, but the younger one has seen me already, is already starting the routine, sauntering quietly over, neck angled to the blue velvet sky.

"What's a poor old-" "Excusez-moi"
I cut off her lilted simper, dipping my head to hide the blush as I sidle around her. Her lips draw together in a pout, the smell of ash hitting the air as she huffs, swaying back to her friend.
"Don't waste your time on that, chérie." I hear the older one say.
It stings a little, of course, but I smooth my long hair over my suit jacket as I walk on.

Now the world sharpens at its edges - my vision becomes a tunnel, trimming off the shavings of musky air and revealing the trademark loud neon of a casino.

Champs de la Campagne has been Cartio's favourite club for years. Even I remember when it opened - the first and only time it had been clean. Some even say Cartio has shares in the company.

The irony bites - if he does have shares, he doesn't exactly seem intent on sharing them.