Her ruby red lips were opened as she carefully stretched her long, dark eyelashes with the aid of heavy mascara. She blinked twice at her reflection in the mirror, before smoothing a long strand of blonde hair so it fell seductively into her cleavage. "Dear God..." She muttered, a pleased, almost sadistic smile stretching across her face. "I am almost too hot." Her deep, almost purring Texan accent lilted into the blue skies and shining sun that graced the air above New York, which shone oblivious to the clouds of pollution, grease and rust that poured from exhaust pipes and did their best to obscure it.

"Lucy!" There was a harsh grunt from another room, and Lucy rolled her eyes. Straightening her low-cut, sequined red halter top, she strutted from her room. The front room was in a similar state of squalor to her own bedroom; clothes, dirty dishes, old papers and general trash littering unclean floors and untidy couches. There was no TV, and very little of any other electrical equipment. There was a phone, but that had been cut off for about three months now. Standing by the front door, leering around her apartment, was a fat, balding man with dry, broken skin and a face that was simultaneously yellowed with tobacco smoke, reddened from alcohol and greyed with years of grime and poor health. A stained, faded shirt covered a vast expense of hair and flab, whilst equally stained and worn Bermuda shorts half hid under his disgusting over-hanging belly, yet didn't have the decency to cover his legs which were scarred and hairy. To be fair, they were strained to breaking-point just covering his gigantic ass, but there was no excuse for the thick once-white socks that peeped between his sandal-straps. From head to toe, the man was repulsive.

"Whaddaya want, Clyde?" Lucy sneered, rummaging in a pile of laundry for her handbag.

"Jeez Lucy, this place is a sty..."

"Like I'm ever here to care about it." She shrugged, finding her silver sequined handbag and rooting through piles of crap on the counter to find her lipstick, her cell and her keys. "Now what the hell are you bothering a li'l old thing like me for at this time of day?"

"I sent Jasper to get your rent." Clyde growled, his beady eyes snapping back to her. "Which is overdue." Lucy shifted her weight to one hip, bit her lip and batted her eyes at him, running the long strand of hair around her fingers.

"Gee, Clyde, he told me I'd sorted him out good and proper."

"And I don't doubt it for a second. But you didn't actually pay him, did you?"

"Oh, give me a break." She snapped, dropping the flirtatious pose and continuing to rummage for her belongings. She didn't understand how a man so repugnant could afford to turn anyone down, even an easy ride like her. "I'll pay you soon, okay?" She muttered, placing her recovered belongings in her purse.

"How soon?" Clyde growled, looking at her with suspicion.

"When I get the money, ok?" And with that, she left, not giving him a chance to answer back.

She strutted over the broken paving slabs and behind the upturned trash-cans that littered the sidewalk of Avenue S, fury quietly brooding behind her customary pout. She had had the growing feeling lately that her life was a crock of shit. She couldn't even drum up the money to live in Avenue S, one of the most disgusting parts of the city. The Avenue was dominated by High School drop outs and drug-addicts, and had been best described as "almost better than being homeless". She'd tried working, but she didn't have the "correct qualifications". And no way was she going to be some no-life grease-monkey at MacDonalds. She let her feet guide her on her familiar path, all the way around Avenue S, then down to Avenue T, and back up towards Avenue Q. She didn't pay much attention to her surroundings, it was all so routine by now she could do it in her sleep. Strut her path, pose on the street corners, look suggestive... She often gained catty glares from women she passed, but she'd stopped caring years ago. She'd tried working, she'd tried school, she'd tried being unemployed. None of it worked, so she had to sell something. And there was only one thing that she could always sell and always have more of to give. Was it nice? No. Was it a good thing to be doing? Probably not. Did she enjoy doing it? Well... there are worse ways to make money. Besides, she served society just us much as the bureaucrats she was hired by. The difference was, she was honest about who she screwed and how.

As she strutted up to Avenue Q, the mid-morning sun bouncing off her curls, she wondered whether she'd be able to find anyone to pay off her rent by the evening. Then, a wicked smile on her glistening red lips, her eyes fell on Trekkie Monster's window. She knew it was his; it was the only one with curtains still drawn. Rearranging her cleavage, she stood underneath his window, making sure he'd get the best possible view.

"Trekkie..." She called out, tapping her foot patiently. "Trekkie..."

"WHAT?" Came the annoyed grunt, as there was crashing within and the curtains were thrown back. "Who- ooohhhhhh..." The sound made a guttural growl in his throat, laced with laughter that sounded like a backed-up garbage disposal.

"And how is my number one friend this morning?" Lucy purred, bobbing her weight up and down on one hip so that she bounced a little as he stared at her. "Are you busy?"

"That... depends..." The Monster looked around behind him, a little guilty.

"I was wondering if I could ask a little favour of you... you know, you scratch my back..." she fixed him with her big, bedroom eyes. "I'll... scratch... yours."

Again the gurgling pipe laugh, and Trekkie jumped back into his apartment. There was a metallic "Buzz" as she was admitted to enter, and she strutted upstairs, wondering what her Rent money was worth in terms Trekkie could understand. Maybe she'd get off light, and he'd just want her to reconstruct some moments from "Girls Gone Wild". She had to hand it to him, he had one heck of an imagination.