Turnkey was his nickname junky was his game. He acquired this handle  because he had a knack for breaking into places by picking the door locks. He accumulated this knowledge by spending time in jail with a masters at breaking and entering.  He wasn't picky when it came to street drugs, any thing he could cook up and shoot up, he did.  Turnkey could smell dope from blocks away. The city streets carried the aroma along wet gutters, through crowded sewers and finally to Turnkey's drug hungry cells.  He was on a 7 day crank run and he needed to come down FAST. He knew the only thing that was going to do it for him was heroin and a big dose of it! His arms were puffy, swollen and pock marked with marble sized abbesses from the needle missing veins while shooting bathtub crank. This special brew was made of many Vick's nose inhalers with the insides taken out and boiled in acetone to get the speed out of them.  The smell of the nose inhalers permeated Turnkeys skin. He always smelled like he was nursing a bad cold. His breath, his sweat, his piss all reeked of Vick's vapor rub. Rumor had it that there was a heroin whore  uptown and Turnkey was going to check it out. Mean while across town the old man dressed in a old tweed suit was sleeping off a cheap wine drunk. His favorite cheap wine was Ripple, his favorite place to sleep it off was the park bench.

WHITE KNIGHT Deep down in the dirty places where no one wants to go There grows a dark heart, you can hear it pumpin low It feeds on evil, and it thrives on pain And once it catches hold of you,  you know your never gonna be the same  Then along comes justice, the wages of sin And calls to every troubled man  No matter what shape he's in But the dark force is a strong one, so good will have to win   You need a white knight in the dark heart of the city yea yea  Now lets say your broke and the rent is due The power people want their money now what are you gonna do You need a White Knight in the dark heart of the city.   Then the White Knight comes riding in  He will stop the plunder Then the White Knight comes riding in  They will feel the thunder Then the White Knight comes riding in  The dark heart will stop beating Then the White Knight comes riding in In his final meeting

The evil was everywhere. You could smell it in the streets. That stale, urine, musty smell that lingers in the dark streets of the cockily city. The old man was comfortable with that smell, for it was him. He had forgotten the daily personal hygiene routines most people maintain many years ago. Preferring to wallow in his own filth as a sort of familiar security blanket. He had self-dwindled his wants and needs  to the lowest common denominators. Something to eat and a place to sleep. With no responsibilities except to himself, as he squallier alone in the garbage strewn alleyways, visiting every little dirty hole there was.  The drug addicts left him alone because he spoke in riddles and rhyme. They were scared of the power of his speech and how he always seemed to be there at a crucial moment. Like when one of them was about to OD on some bad junk. No matter how down and dirty the old man appeared , in this part of the city he was a White Knight. The protector of the fallen ones. Surely a cherub in disguise!

It was one of those places nobody visited. Kind of a space truckers rest stop. Where the food is bad and so is the action. The place wasn't even a planet but more like a big oblong potato the size of  Jupiter. Slowly turning end over end with a side wobble that kept the rotation random in nature. It also made little pockets of protected atmosphere theaters with there very own gravity fields environments.   Inside these little pockets were built rest-overs as they were called. These were low cost cubicles that had all the comforts of real air and gravity. For a long hauler this was great. After breathing recycled air and going in and out of weightlessness they were all willing to take a break and have themselves some entertainment, which usually meant woman and space brew.