That was all he could do.The next building was a squat, dirty green two-story with grimy windows and a smell half-way between second-hand semen and a ...pilled bottle of cheap perfume, the sort someone might use to disguise a cesspool.Two or three Mexican women with furtive eyes were stringing fresh-washed sheets on a line.The taxista went up to one of them and asked if this was La Casa de Los Angeles."Si." The woman, swarthy with the high cheekbones that revealed much Indian blood, walked away. Her time being dead had certainly done a number on her tan, though, leaving her skin extremely pale, the only real colour coming from a pair of pinkish nipples. Giving herself one final check, she gropes her large breasts, making sure they're still firm and bouncy."Everything's up to standard. Now, onto the real magic." She said to herself, getting uncomfortable with the silence.A few more ancient words are spoken, this time, creating a small portal on the ceiling, out from which a black cat. More

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