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The East Side is a night place.
The name itself is catchall for all the little towns, Sauget, Brooklyn, Washington Park on the other side of the Mississippi River from St. Louis, which, as places go, munch off a greasy diet of sin and fear, lined with a potent combination of dark bars stained with the grimy residue of what's left of men's souls, of strip clubs, massage parlors, casinos, pony palaces, sex shops and dance clubs. It's 24-hour bars and X-ed out teenagers, all among tall, phallic mills and factories, coughing, sputtering, stinking places, choking out anything not drunk or high or horny enough to notice. It starts just across the Mississippi, a fingernail into Illinois, where towns are nothing more than land and square footage calculations for those big mills, pockets lined for everyone involved.The East Side goes further geographically, other cities needing their share of the grift, the girls and the stories.
Meet Montana. Or that's what she calls herself. Find out who she is confessing to killing.
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