Aimee trudged home after a long day of work, whistling the tune of a Beatles' song, adjusting the cap on her head.

The dusk was growing into night, so Aimee picked up the pace a little in order to be home to make her mom supper. Luckily, aside from the occasional catcalling, Aimee didn't get bothered too much. She was kind of an intimidating girl, even though she was still a girl, she had a glint in her eyes.

As she passed by the bridge connecting the two sides of the neighborhood - the "poor" side and the "rich" side (Aimee was on the poor side, of course) - she spotted a pretty girl.

This wasn't unusual. The girls on the West Side were much prettier, and that was just a fact. They had fancier clothes, better bodies, prettier faces. Every North Side boy wanted a West Side girl, even if they'd never admit it, because they were supposed to be into their own kind: Skinny, lanky girls who chew too much gum and wore too much grimy eye makeup, and swore and spit and pulled other girls' hair.

Unfortunately, Aimee liked the ones who wouldn't give her a second glance, the girls who scoffed when he passed by. No wonder she’d never managed to find a lover.

Aimee didn't think much of her, though, and looked back down at the ground, hoping she wouldn't start insulting her.

Aimee then heard a sharp wolf whistle coming from a man, aimed towards the pretty girl. He looked older, and he was leering at the girl like she was a dessert. He had two other grimy men behind him, also grinning and ogling her.

"Hey, baby!" The one in the front called out. "Come on over here!"

"C'mon!" Another one encouraged. "We can show you a good time, sweet thing."

The girl scurried away from the men uncomfortably and Aimee felt a pang of protectiveness. She walked up to the pretty thing with purpose, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his jaw clenched.

"What are you don’ here, rich girl?" Aimee led her away from the men. "Let me walk ya' home, pretty.”