Lemonade and vodka on a front porch during the evening time. Crickets. Branches waving back and forth in an easy breeze. The swing goes back and forth.

Ellen sits watching the sun go down. It’s getting darker by the minute. She sips her drink and chews on ice cubes. The glass is wet and melting in her hand.

Momma didn’t know her daddy, she says out loud. I didn’t know mine, she took another drink. And Meg, she never knew the bastard either. She knew of him. But never knew him, the mother said.

It’s a funny thing. You go through this life lonely for the most part. I hope Meg’s not lonely. I hope she’s not.

Her drink comforts her. And, she is not alone

Meg walks along Hunts Point for the night. She talks to herself as well. Just like Mom.

She wears tight stained jeans and a tube top. Her hair is disheveled, and red lipstick is drawn thick.

Cars pull up, and she negotiates through an open passenger window. She names her price, and they go around the corner to Barretto Street. Under a streetlight, she turns her trick. For a moment or two, she is not alone.

Frank has cleaned up. He’s found a sugar daddy. Life is easier when you’re the flavor of the week.

The older man has decked his boy out in new cowboy boots, tight tee-shirts, and  button fly jeans that make his package bulge.

They sit in Julius’ bar and listen to old songs. Songs from another time.  Billy Strayhorn, Cole Porter, show tunes, disco from a decade ago. The old queen sips his Grand Marnier with pinky pointing out from the  snifter. He pats Frank on the ass and tells him to fetch another round. Frank pockets the change. Saving for a rainy day.

And for a while, he is not alone.