She was only 17 and smelled of cigarettes and sorrow
Standing under an old streetlight on the corner of
42nd and Harlow Avenue in the latest the hour can be

Why was she there, on the corner of 42nd and Harlow Avenue?
Nobody knew
Not even she did
Or how she got there
But that part wasn't entirely important
She still had her phone, her purse, her dignity
And most of her clothing?
Maybe just her phone and purse.

Her intoxication had taken over
Her vision is slightly blurry
And her head feels as though it weren't even there
Her senses are tricking her
For she hears a familiar rhythm from behind
Getting louder and louder in 4/4 time
She only realizes what it is when it stops right next to her

"How Much?" The man asks her
His eyes are full of greed
And his breath's filled with Whiskey
Hers probably smelled the same
Along with the result of an empty Camels pack

"Well?" He asks again, his eyes fixed on every curve her dress made
"How Much?"

She looks at him
Dead in the eye

"Life has no price when one wishes to end it."

He stares at her for a few seconds more
Then walks off into the shadows to find satisfaction

She watches him go
And keeps looking long after he's gone
She opens a new pack
And blows through half of it
Toying with the idea of taking three steps into Harlow Avenue

Seemed a fitting ending