Sheila’s day at LuvSuks has come to an end. She lives in an apartment complex in the east end of London, north of the river Thames. Her job at LuvSuks doesn’t pay enough for her to bother moving anywhere else in London. Besides she knows this part of town like the back of her chubby hands. She’s in her realm. It is also cheaper to eat in the east end with plenty of Kebab, chinese and pizza takeout joints. The job comes with perks, lots of time off, full medical and dental, the tailored suit she wears everyday, which will need to be returned if she quits or gets fired, along with the shoes.
Once she’s across town, there is a point where she crosses under a viaduct where it feels like she’s crossed through a portal in time, catapulting her back to a semblance of what life was like a decade ago. A sort of limbo between what was and what is. A part of the city reserved for those that had fallen through the cracks. Androids were practically non-existent in this end of town, except for law enforcement, clean up crews, the ones picking up dead bodies and the usual drones.
For as long as it has existed, the East End of London has been regarded as the ‘tough’ end of town, dating back centuries. Some places in the world are resistant to time and change, same as people. London went through two industrial revolutions and was at the hub of two major wars. Those black and white pictures, you may have seen, with hundreds of people huddled in the tube stations, that was London’s East End.
From the ashes of the Blitz new towers rose, museums, hospitals and schools, green areas and parks. The damage London’s East End had ensued during the bombings, had turned into an opportunity to remodel itself, after the war, but like the old saying goes, the suit doesn’t make the man. While many west London neighborhoods aged gracefully, large portions of East London are dilapidated and rundown now.
Sheila is walking towards her neighborhood watering hole, it’s Friday night late October so it’s no surprise when it suddenly starts raining. She ducks into a Chinese Rotisserie, the size of a closet.
It smells like a blend of old moldy rags, bleach and fried fat. There are two lit wall sconces facing each other, mounted on opposite walls, both of these housing a legion of dead flies. A wall mounted monitor, behind the counter, showcases the menu on a loop. Their specialty is dumplings filled with sweet and sour pork, Sheila’s personal favorite.
There is no one at the counter. With the dimpled index finger of her left hand Sheila pushes the button on the counter. The moment her finger makes contact, a led banner above the mirror lights up with a flashing number 100 and Sheila is on camera, she can see herself on the monitor.
A tall, handsome young asian man pops his head out the swinging door leading to the tiny kitchen in the back. His mane of thick satiny black hair gets Sheila every time, it’s hot, she imagines him as one of those bare breasted hot studs they used on the cover of those trashy sexual escape novels her aunt used to read.
“Miss Sheila!” The young man is very happy to see Sheila.
“ You are our lucky winner Miss Sheila. Today we have a special prize for our special customer number 100 and you are the lucky number 100.”
“Well how do you like that Martin, what else do I get for being the lucky number 100? Sheila’s tone is scantily suggestive as she leans over the counter, generously spilling her fuller than full bosom. “For your eyes only Martin.”
“Lucky and looking sharp Miss Sheila. Life is being good to you, new life, new look and you still come to eat our Bao in the east end. That is real customer loyalty.”
“You know I come here for you Martin, I could eat your Bao everyday, Martin. I am prepared to show you my gratitude. Wouldn’t you love to get your hands on some flesh, real flesh.” Sheila cups her breasts and takes in a deep breath filling her lungs to full capacity, increasing her already generous breast size by an extra cup size.
“Careful you don’t make my wife jealous Miss Sheila or she will make my life miserable.”
“You let that skinny thing push you around? You know you deserve more and one day you will be begging me Martin, mark my words.”
By the time Sheila has concluded with her overtures towards Martin, he has been busy and her buns are ready, boxed and bagged. “The rain has let up, Miss Sheila, it is your lucky day.”
Sheila blows Martin a kiss from across the counter as she does a sexy swivel towards the exit and steps out into the misty night.
She heads over to Steal Head Pub, just two blocks away from her bed. What little demeanor Sheila manages to muster while at work swiftly evaporates once she is back on her turf, even the way she moves is different, which is also partially due to her feet having been bound in tight high heeled shoes for over 12 hours. The night is still young and soon she will be feeling no pain.