Oldcastle’s Journal, Feb. 14th.

Holiday for the lonely hearts.  Strangely, there’s plenty of snowfall, almost unheard of in this city.  May have to buy a heavier jacket.

11:10AM.  Meet with Ramone and Zach at the train station south of the zoo.  Straight off, we’re approached by an old man, straggly wisps of a beard, worn out shoes.  He’s quick and intelligent, despite appearances, and eager to chat.  He’s lived abroad for years.  We don’t have time for a coffee, but exchange phone numbers to meet our new friend again.

Snow is getting slushy outside.  A sense of the forlorn and rejected is a fine white powder that blankets the people.  A warm and pleasant drowsiness takes them.  That’s their hope.  The morning after, returning to their hovels and high-rises, they sleep and slumber and try to forget.  Stardust and snowflakes.  But the track marks are still on their arms, and when the effects wear off, they’re left with a wretched loneliness inside.

It’s an old neighborhood.  The kind where the walls are everywhere, though no one can see them. The original place burned down.  They moved it down here.  As far as red light districts go, this is the fortress, a hundred and twenty brothels.  The mayor serves as a legal advisor to the area.  As we walk the streets, we stay alert to any following us.  There’s two different gangs controlling these businesses, about three hundred members strong going by the police reports.

As we pass the windows, it’s difficult to know where to look.  Maintaining a sort of respectful, yet cordial distance from the merchandise.  Hurm.  Well, it’s a scouting mission.  Zone recon.  The girls sit stoically in the cold, heat fans blazing around them, as the window-shoppers survey.  Some are in uniform, others in their delicates.  They are young and beautiful.  One would never tell by seeing them outside the wall what kind of persona they put on each day.

Mind is reeling.  “Turning and turning in the widening gyre…”  We get lunch at a shifty little café and exchange notes.  Our small team is ramshackle.  Makeshift.  Determined.  Formidable.  Like the Blue Blaze Irregulars.  The word will spread.  Makes my blood beat hot.  Surely some revelation is at hand.

11:15PM.  It stopped snowing.  Now a light rain outside.  Meet with the Colorado Kid about scoping out Doyamacho and Toganocho.  He’s a seeker, but a good hand.  Got a good eye for what’s what as well.  Lucky to have him with me.  I brief him and give some heads up about what to expect.

12:30AM.  Head out on and find some local referral guides.  There’s a fetid stench in these kind of catering businesses, another part of this predatory system, but CK and I play our cards well.  They’re friendly enough and give us information.

After we take our leave, we come across some girls with sandwich boards.  Younger girls mostly.  Once I loosen things up, CK is a natural.  They are surprised and eagerly take our Valentine gift bags, happy to talk to people that are not there with money in hand.  Chocolate, handwritten note, and contact info is inside.  Me and my heart of gold.  In all, we chat up with nine or ten folks around the neighborhood.  Most of them ladies bar workers.  Others are in deep.  Wonder if they’re using their real names.

2:03AM. Pass a drunk slouched by a building.  He waves away our help.  Others that walk this hour are in their own world, conversing with themselves.  The mentally disturbed.  The spirit-oppressed.  It’s still drizzling.  We’re ready to head in.  Not much choice - tomorrow is an early day.