it was a dark night

Roving the late night streets in Hwaesong feels like something out of Diashell hammet. Seedy districts, leading to a road of neon. I have this pulp detective monologue playing in my head.
" It was a dark night, in a cold city. Men in business suits escorting ladies to the restaurants like their companions were on the menu. Arcane glyphs in a language I can't read burn into my eyes. As carelessly as an unwatched cigarette. Groups of young men going to the message parlour named Jazz , a place without horns, a place where Ella never sang. But the original meaning of Jazz and it's origins in brothels wasn't lost on the owners. The bars are empty save for a few deicated chasers of the grain. It's a cold night. But the harsh lights warm me in some preternatural way. Challenging me, to read, to learn, to comprehend because I'm from New York. All cities are the same. I already understand."