A little girl, maybe three, I’m not good with kid’s ages never having had one. Well, never having raised one walks by the money shaker. She pulls at her mother’s hand, taking the best of a long look. Ribbons and bows, they flow from her as the gentleness of her youth passes the soft, round man. He is the one who sits at the bottom of the Gower exit shaking his fast food cup of choice, but the money shaking thing is just a cover up, what he really does is sell crack. Certain guys pull down the off ramp and he closes up shop and runs around the corner leaning into their open window. Easy. I’ve bought too much of it not to know the score. He knows I know.