Film Noir but all the genders are swapped. Like, *saxophone music plays*

A fiery young socialite walks into my office one night and he’s all legs. Wearing five-day old mascara and a shirt so low it would make angels weep. His bottom lip quivers and I don’t trust it. “Ya gotta help me, Lorna.”

I smoke five cigarettes at once. I had seen the murders of young men just like him every night on Bumblefuck St. The police don’t even bother to show up there and my name is on every criminal’s lips. I smoke another five cigarette and wash it down with whiskey-brandy-gin. The socialite with legs and also eyes is still looking at me.

I’m wet as an Irish speakeasy, but what else is new? I exhale smoke and finish the whiskey bottle. “I’ll take a look,” I relent. He exhales and I don’t trust that either.