so i say "buddy, you have every violation in the book. gimme one good reason not to close you down." you know what the kraut says to me?
the blintzes! "try the blintzes"
not just any carbohydrates, mind you. it was like being on the receiving end of some kind of transcendent oral sex. we should get a strobe on this thing. maybe even a siren.
health department.
hey. i'm a short guy. waddaya want?
uses an iron bar, and breaks a padlocked cellar door. a heavy stench emanates from inside. the cops cover their noses.
immigration's gonna love you for that.
two shifts, people rotating from bed to work. one toilet. we're in wal-mart hell, here.
triad, chinese mafia. they bring people from yunan. slave labor.  reverend harry wong, a preacher had the flophouse fronting for them. no sign of him.
thirty-three workers.
shit.
new york's finest.
there's really people living down here?
what?
smells like acid.
peter.
there's some weird shit here.
take a look.
fecal matter, unknown origin: weird shit. whatever it is, it's not human.
rushes forward.
peter!
h-how do i get?
i think so. one right, two lefts.
right.
comes to a t-junction. he checks his notepad for the appropriate direction.
holding his breath and tiptoeing sideways, never taking his eyes off the thing, josh begins to move away. he sees a narrow opening in the wall- there seems to be dim light coming from something beyond it. he tries to squeeze through the opening-
oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!
pulls himself up, up- wham! the mimic hits the lower part of his body, blood spraying up through the hole. he screams, grasps the cord with both hands!