old city is a perpetual breeding ground for first dates and last calls. A reproductive slum for all the single cell anti social amoebas that squirm the streets with tails flicking spastically. Looking for the wrong guy or wrong girl to scoop them up and sodomize their brain with a meat cleaver. We should be so lucky. Will natural selection actually weed out the shallow unfit seas of unconscious corpses roaming the streets? Will they eventually dry up into the rotten cores of meaningless flesh that we see them as? Does god have a hand in balancing out this fucked up crumpled sports car that we call Friday night? The answer is no. No, no a thousand times. And we'd be better off if we didn't drown in the details.
The deep mascara driven eye sockets of girls with no home to go to plead on and on about their hopeless predicament. I'd be inclined to agree with them, and even sympathize, if there were just a dozen fewer of their kind.