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WEIGHT: 57 kg
Breast: E
One HOUR:80$
NIGHT: +50$
Services: Bondage, Swinging, Massage, Moresomes, Pole Dancing
A full scarlet moon is rising over Des Moines Saturday night, and Mike in a white tuxedo and girl in arm asks me the way to the Hotel Savery. It is almost balmy out and it is prom night, bug-spattered blue Mercedes' lining the curbs, yellow and silver Corvettes screeching turns across corners of sidewalk, pickups and battered Chevies with drinking buddies cruising down Locust Street as the red and blue umbrella with half an "A" that blinks announces "The Travelers'" insurance.
I am walking east of the Des Moines River from my hotel, beyond the public library and the city hall and the federal courthouse, along wide streets lined with Ford dealerships and Dodge showrooms and vacant lots, past the Amoco station on 6th and Walnut where I stopped for gas years ago the night I was moving to L. I hear the sound of a streetlight transformer with the rush of trees, and a man and woman are standing amid an immense green slope looking towards downtown and the white moonlit clouds.
I sit on the capitol steps, a Civil War mortar, a sundial and a statue of Lincoln my companions, where a fountain is wrapped in winter black plastic and I can see the pink letters of the Hotel Kirkwood sign. The Saturday night trees blow their fluorescent glowing green over the streetlamps and the river sparkles in sulphur-vapor orange. Noises drift up muffled past me, and my view is a "V" of lights pointing white and vacant towards downtown.
There is an odd openness of space here near the river, the city and state buildings large masses of stone as big as other cities', but set apart from one another like the red squares on a checkerboard, equal amounts of blank spaces between them -- something, I imagine, like Berlin after the war. But there is no war here except, perhaps, the one of new or, rather, renewed money descending upon a tired downtown. The building next to the Hotel Randolph has been renovated and painted and is for rent, and next door to the Elliot Apartments the Hawkeye Insurance Building is gutted and "for lease retail, office, apts.
But tomorrow morning, as I stand outside on the sidewalk down the street in front of the Hotel Randolph with its weekly rates and potted cactus in the lobby window and its woman in a tan raincoat sitting there biting her nails and its corner pawnshop and bail bonds office, a woman in a 7th-floor window will call out to me, asking if I am an architect, and I will yell up that I am just writing and she will yell back, "That's good," as a man in another window, same floor, looks out across at her.