Ben had stopped the bus. "Here's your stop." Brice peeked out the window to see the streets' signs. Yet, he couldn't the streetlights were out. "Thanks man." He turned to the woman. "I've got somebody to buy your bag follow me." He lied to her to get her off the bus, he planned to ditch her. She exited the bus, cutting him off at the door.
"Sorry," Ben said. "I needed her off my bus, your street is another five to six blocks. He closed the door by shifting the lever. Brice banged on the side of the bus for him to stop. Trash lady laughter grew over the fading sounds of the bus engine. Brice began speed walking in the middle of the street. When he heard the rain boots slapping against the pavement, he set himself in a track and field race mode. The sound became quieter. He surveyed his surroundings, the area was clear. Getting on to the sidewalk, he couldn't remember how many streets he had passed. He checked the sign on the one that came up next. It wasn't the one. Not wanting to double back, he went to the next street.
Its streetlights were lit and soul music played on a radio with speakers in the center of the street. The atmosphere resembled a night club with people having drinks near the porches of houses and couples dancing on the lawns including five women hustling. Brice approached the house where a man dressed in white silk and alligator shoes. The wiry man grinned and returned to his conversation.
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