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📓 Friday September 5, 2025 8:03 p.m.
South Central. Corner of Avalon.
Sun still high, 6:17 p.m. — not midnight, not hidden.
Daylight.
I parked in the shade. Thought nothing of it.
Pulled out my cases for a liquor store delivery.
Happy Liquor Store. Funny name, right?
First thing I see?
A crackhead on a pallet — her makeshift stage.
Face covered, dancing, twitching.
Out of the whole empty lot, she’s right in front of me.
Second thing?
A van rolls up, slides right next to mine.
All this parking, and he parks right there.
I drop off half the order.
Come back for the rest.
And boom.
The van’s door is cracked open,
and a man is standing there getting his dick sucked —
midday traffic passing by.
No shame, no hesitation.
Full mission mode.
I tell the owner, a young Middle Eastern dude:
“Hey, you might want to check outside.
There’s a guy getting head on your lot.”
He walks out, six foot, mini fro,
eyes wide, grin like he’s watching a comedy skit.
Doesn’t say a word.
Just pulls out his phone,
hits record,
and starts filming.
Now I’m unloading my boxes
while this man moans like he’s chewing filet mignon.
The girl in purple sandals, perched on the stool by the open door,
like it’s another Tuesday.
When I finally roll out,
he’s still at it.
She’s still at it.
Avalon’s still moving.
Happy Liquor.
Happy man
Happy ending.
Broad daylight.
South Central absurdity.
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