Morning on Bleeker Street


Sin City. Using it's real name would serve no worthwhile purpose. It's sometime in the late seventies, that seediest of decades.

Our journey today takes us deep into this urban decay - right to the rotten core at its heart.

That core has a name: Bleeker Street.

The early morning is the only time there's ever quiet on Bleeker Street. And even that brief peace is shattered by the growl of an ancient locomotive, working the crumbling industries in the next block.

Big Boy's Jive Joint rests silently in the early sun. At this hour, no jungle jazz throbs from its fissures.

That will come later.

Big Boy's owns the long nights around here.

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