"Why are we here?" I hear her ask as soon as I put the car in park just a few feet away from The Pitt.
Faint howls of victory can be heard signifying people were having a good time. When were they fuckin' not? I made the renovation so the place didn't feel like a dump like it did before. No maintenance, broken flood lights, hell, there were people who died just because they were dumb enough not to step over the white painted lane divider outlining the tracks. So I had payed someone to fix that little problem by adding a steel fence to prevent dumb s**t like that ever happening again.
The Pitt wasn't as successful as when it was under my supervision. I even acquired the permit for it under the ghost persona of Jason Port, a mid-thirties man who won the lottery and bought part of the land
