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about 1100 words behind
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New story:
He walked the streets, his cane tapping before him, ears and nose bringing him the night. The cars passed, their airstreams telling him their position. He paused at a cross-walk, listening to the box click over, and then crossed the street.
His cane warned him of the curb. He could smell the people: the whores, their perfume over the deeper scents of drugs and disease; the loiterers, beer and whiskey, cigarettes and crystal; the druggies dying of despair and the substances in their veins; the thrill-seekers, soap and shampoo and temperature controlled air from their workplaces. And through it all the smell of sex and desire. He needed tonight, needed as he had not in years.
His ears led him to the clubs. The steady techno beat went right through him, making him most uncomfortable as it jarred the fluids that had once been internal organs. He breathed deeply; smoke and sex, alcohol and other less-legal intoxicants filled the night. Male and female, all female... ah, the one he was seeking: a melange of testosterone, male sweat, low voices and a grinding dance beat.
The line smelled of anticipation and need, the murmured conversations a distraction. He did not join it. Toward the end, a more promising draft drew his attention. A whiff of garbage, over it the high smell of sex recently accomplished. The man smelled clean, slumming by having quick sex in an alley. He heard the little sounds of the zipper, of cloth on cloth. He collapsed his cane and waited at the end of the alley.
He knew what they would see when they emerged: a young black man, all in blue that matched his startling eyes. He had always liked blue: the skies over New Orleans, the dresses of the wealthy mulatto women, the uniforms of the French army, the brave feathers and tatty finery of Jean Lafitte and his crew. The men in the alley would learn soon enough that he was blind. With luck, neither would figure out his condition.
The D-Man checks in