Beneath the Gaze of Neon Dragons

A romance hidden in the urban shadows of half-seen souls.

I was born in a five dollar room to the sound of jazz and in the smell of rye whiskey.  I was the consequence of a twenty dollar romance  between a sad, broken woman and a rich, unknown man.  The woman named me Santino and the man was long gone by the time I came.

She died in the streets.  Bad heroin in her veins, I presumed.  I survived, a child growing up in the alleys on the backdoor steps of bars and pawn shops -there with the discards of lives that once were and the dreams that never came to be.

I am three times my age, an old man worn out by cold and neglect.  I am a ghost of a soul, a dweller in the shadows and resident of the sewers.

So I drink my muscatel and chew on half-eaten rolls, here on the corner of Third and Lombardy, beneath the gaze of neon dragons.


The End

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