He sat a crossed the street overlooking the motels on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street on the bad side of a otherwise already bad city. He sat wearing nothing more than ragged clothes wrapped carelessly around his food deprived body. He who has not ate in days, in weeks, was almost as skinny as the ladies that visited the motels on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street. These ladies did not care to take care of themselves for they knew someone would take care of them for them. These ladies came from all walks of life as well as their gentlemen companions that sought out their attention every night on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street. The name itself – 4th and Fremont Street – has become their source of attention for it attracted them every night like moths to a flame. With every night they lost their identity.
On this hallow night, the tenants range from a lawyer and a virgin. Her body laid upon the bed as he hovered over, watching her as if she was a portrait. Not to be touched, but to be observed. Soon he would dishonor the beauty of a portrait as he starts to run his fingers over her still body. He’ll count each rib slowly, watch each scar as he looks for one, doing whatever it takes to find an imperfection just so he can dismiss it and get on with the night. “You’re very beautiful,” he’ll tell her as she turns her face away from his hallow words. She loses herself for a night of hallow pleasures and unmeaning intimacy but looks to the future as she thinks about getting a job at the firm come Monday. Her rosary falls out of her lingerie as he snaps her remaining clothes off. She’ll lose her faith with her hallow God that night.
“What a wonderful caricature of intimacy,” one would believe.
“Strictly business,” he’ll say to the Mrs. hours before he’ll find himself on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street. She’ll realized his sinful deeds as she looks onto herself in the mirror of her compact, reflecting her tears as her love for him turns to rage. Her rage soon reflected in the shatter pieces of her compact after being flung across the room. Each shatter piece, every shattered shard, reflected her emotions of the cheating attorney she foolishly gave her heart to some odd years ago.
Back at the motels on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street, roach after roach infested the rooms as there lady counterparts give themselves up to further themselves. The rooms each have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formaldehyde, and enough sin to make a preacher cross his heart upon walking by. The motel managers each laughing behind their desk as they count their devilish money paid to them from virgin’s blood.
The rain falls from the heaven’s above, proving that God is crying at the self-destructive nature of his creation. From one of the motels steps out a beautiful lady dressed in a white dress that highlights her purity that was just taken away. She holds up a crimson red rose clenched in her hand, the thorns breaking the fabric of her skin. She lets go, as if breaking her ties with the hallow God she once believed in. The raindrops wash the rose away into the sewers along with each blood stain drop of rain that falls down. She’ll disappear into the shades of the shadows on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street.
Later that morning the motel manager would leave his post as he crawls his way home. He’ll pass the homeless man in rags. “Don’t you have no shame in the sins you deal out every night?” the homeless man asked him as he tries to look him in his fiendish eyes. And he’ll reply.
“Build God, then we’ll talk.”
- ‘Corner of 4th and Fremont Street’ by Hector J. Delgado