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The streets in Amber’s part of town were cracked and riddled with potholes. Dollar stores outnumbered Starbucks. All of the buildings had a tired, dingy look to them, as did the pedestrians cruising down the w**d-strewn sidewalks. Sprouting from street corners were homemade signs promising free cable and cash for houses.
A couple of streets south of Northern, Amber maintained a cute little three-bedroom, which she shared with a gay man named Ace and a single mother named Rebel and her two-year-old daughter, Sage. Only Amber was home at the time.
Amber was tall, sinewy, and tan. Her voice was husky but sultry in a Miley Cyrus sort of way, and the only hint of her being trans. She hugged me when she opened the door to let us in.
I introduced Shea. Amber introduced us to her friend Mar
