It is 1:07 in the morning in New York. You’re listening to WKCR 89.9 on the FM dial. You just heard Central Park West by John Coltrane on tenor saxophone, McCoy Tyner on piano, Elvin Jones on drums, and Steve Davis on Bass. Next up is Charles Mingus with Goodbye Pork Pie Hat. I hope you enjoy. Time is 1:12 a.m. on WKCR Columbia University.

The music sounded dreamlike. Ben sat on the number 6 train listening as the volume lingered low, just hovering above a whisper. 

Second shift workers going home from their mundane jobs. Teenagers breaking curfew. Club hoppers whooping it up; still buzzed on drink and cocaine. Young women dressed like cheap hookers. Crackheads, potheads, speed freaks, passed out drunks, some going some staying, all of them sinners on a night that was made for sinning. Crazies calling out for redemption. Pickpockets standing dangerously close to men in suits with Midwestern accents. And an old lady with disheveled hair smacking on gum. This is New York. No soul is safe tonight.

The time is 1:26 on WKCR. That was Charles Mingus and his orchestra with Goodbye Pork Pie Hat. If there’s a song you’d like to hear, give me a call at 212-646-4277. I’ll get that on for you. The time is 1:29 here in New York.

Ben wished he had a quarter to call with. He gave his last dollar to Meg so that she could go out into the city. Turn her tricks.

They were to meet at a pizza stand on 8th at the corner of 24th around 5:30 when the sun is coming out to shine down on steel buildings, concrete sidewalks, sober people in yoga classes,  drunks stumbling about lost, never finding their way in this world, cops cruising side streets.

Meg dodged and weaved around 51st Street and 8th. Conducting business in rooms rented by the hour, behind dumpsters, in the front seats of Lincolns, Cougars, Chevrolets, Fords, Jags, and other cars parked by curbs in Hell’s Kitchen. They were all waiting to get a piece of her. Old men, youngsters, tourists, midnight ramblers, dealers, men with foreign tongues, whores vying for turf. Competition is fierce. Business brutal. Committing acts that will never be forgotten. Bringing gifts for their wives and girlfriends; flowers and gonorrhea.

She took sponge baths in McDonald’s bathroom sinks. A bar of soap in her purse. Lukewarm water touching the skin. Lips painted red and cheeks a softer tone.

One of these days, it won’t be like this, she told herself as sweaty men took rides on her. One of these days.

How much did you make tonight? Ben asked.

Here, she handed over two twenties. 

Cool. 

Time is now 6:34 in the a.m. here in New York City. You’re listening to WKCR.