Postcard #2 - The Gray Parlour

She sits in parlour which has only degrees of gray in it. The opening on the left leads to a Chinatown opium den of some metropolis. The only décor of the room beyond the beaded curtain is a pervasive black embellished with gigantic red neon dragons. Patrons in various stages of stupor lie in various positions of abandon on the oriental couches placed end to end. Most of them should have given up long ago, for them the road has ended.

It is little wonder that she doesn’t like being her. Her position as concierge exposes her to risks, she at 21 would much rather have nothing to do with. But this is where she has to work.

The enveloping darkness of this out-of-the-way building renders it difficult to even hazard a guess at the time of the day. The only breaks are the flashes of daylight that dart inside when the grey door slides open to let in yet another gaunt opiate customer. But during the day these moments are few and far between, being much more frequent in the night when the darkness outside rivals that inside. So more often than not, her eyes close against the sparkling stimulus.