Deacon is outside, its the afternoon, 2 pm. It's an odd time for Deacon, most days at this time he's lying in bed, gin near by, wrestling with the idea of getting up, or remaining comatose, most days the later gets the hand held high; but here he is, out in the sun,wondering why he made this decision, wandering the streets, he remembers, "I need a win" he utters this to himself. Deacon is dressed as best he can possibly assemble, hat, button down shirt, clean jeans, shoes. He spies a girl, beautiful, small body, tight clothes, no make up. Deacon is overwhelmed with her beauty; but dare he approach? Deacon, passes back and forth past the girl, she's Asian, about his age, 5'3 and has all the look of a girl that has been to the gym. Tight tank top, short athletic shorts, headphones draped around her neck. Deacon doesn't stand a chance, it's been years since a girl like this has even acknowledged his existence. Deacon, takes a moment, examines his own body, broken ribs from a Puerto Rican in the Bronx, stab wound from some thick mick in South Boston, Sliced eyebrow from some Black guy in California. He's disgusted with himself, and feels he has not a prayer with this stunning beauty. He watches the girl from a distance, he's allured by her beauty; but knows he has not a chance, he turns to walk away. The beautiful Asian girl turns, sparks up a cigarette, and Deacon makes his move...
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