"Isn't that building going to be renovated next month?" Clean Cut's cheek was planted on the carriage's left window, a look of disinterest on his face. From the bags under his eyes, I could tell he had failed to get much sleep after last night's fiasco -- though this was the same for me and Joe. Yet, when I looked over at Joe, his features were clearly more groomed. Meaning, he either had a better routine than me or Clean, or he was on enough steroids to kill a smaller pony. Celestia forbid it's the first possibility.

The four of us were crammed in the same tiny vehicle: Clean Cut, Joe Press, Sky, and myself. It wasn't often that any of us took this route, so we could never anticipate the potholes and when to brace ourselves. This, added with the stuffy atmosphere, put us all on edge.

I was seated between Sky, to my left, and Joe, to my right. Clean Cut was seated on the far left of the carriage, making mindless chit chat as he always did. It must of been something he inherited from his mother or nanny. Maybe a sister, though I wasn't sure if he had any siblings.

Sky nuzzled me, working her snout up and down my jawline. Whether it was a display of affection, or flirting, I couldn't tell. I decided to ignore it. Holding up my same passive expression as the carriage sped forward.

Though, I couldn't help but occasionally glare at each passing bum. Their faces drooped and eyes lazy. It was probably because they were drunk, or stupid (neither would've surprised me) that they kept the same face all day long. It was little past five and many of them were already slumped over, either rubbing the sleep out of their eyes with grime-covered hooves, or downing bottles of daisy scotch.

"There's another one!" Joe exclaimed excitedly. He pointed his hoof at the latest homeless pony that the carriage had passed.

"No fair," Clean replied. "I was just about to call it." He shot Joe a nasty look before returning to his jabbering. "I suppose it's to be expected. I hear the right side of this street is the living waste hotspot of the neighborhood," Clean said, trying to sound cool and unbothered. Despite this, his eyes were darting about the side walks, hoping to snatch the next point for himself.

"I read an article in the Stable that estimates the homeless population to be up eight percent," he continued, blabbing about decay in Canterlot and other statistical garbage. I gave up trying to fish some importance from Clean's puddle of words, instead turning my gaze back to the passing city.

$ $ $ $ $

I stared at my reflection in the polished hotel lobby. Pristine. It almost seemed like an hour before Filthy came down from his hotel room, which was a shame since I could've looked at myself all day. Duty came calling in the form of a tan earth pony with a black mane, shirt collar and red necktie. Of course, on the tie was a golden dollar sign.

Other than that, he looked as shitty as ever. Unkept and looking permanently sleep-deprived, his face looked like if it were to droop any lower he'd be sweeping the floor with his stubble. His shirt collar was unbuttoned here and there; meaning, both. Seriously, who fucks up a two-button outfit? Then there was his left forehoof, left noticeably stained (which can be quickly ascertained why with a momentary glance upward) by his mane: the sleazeball's rigorously combed dew was dripping with oil slick quasi to a serving of black gelatin, jiggling with every twitch and motion.

Time to act:

"Filthy Rich, good to see you. How long has it been?"

And to be fair, I was genuinely curious to hear if he'd been counting the days spent in that backwater yokel-trap, Ponyville.

"Two years, three months, seventeen days and nine hours since I've last been in Canterlot," he chimed.

Well shit. Poor bastard. I'd heard more than I could want from the place: how it was founded by dirt ponies (and certainly no small amount of incest by the cross-eyed mouth breathers), how it found itself on the cusp of the Everfree, how, despite owning THE BEST boutique southwest of the Crystal Empire (not including Canterlot, of course), all the citizens parade around NUDE (this fact, not only bothered me, it kept me up at night; even the bums of Canterlot have the common decency to cling to their piss and shit-stained newspapers), and how, finally, the insignificant speck possessed not one, not two, but all six Elements of Harmony. This fact wouldn't be so bothersome if it weren't for that single, uncouth...

"Blueblood, are you alright?"

I was snapped out of the trance to see Sky's amber eyes fixed on me, her face radiating concern, while Joe and Clean Cut snickered to each other. Filthy, like me, was in his own world at the time, probably fantasizing about money. Hygiene aside, he had his redeemable qualities.

Sky blinked hard, her mouth forming a soft frown. Ugh, I suppose she wanted an answer.

"Fine, honey. Just thinking about where we might eat."

Half true. I wasn't sure what I wanted.

Clean stifled his laughter, "We could head out to Lecurie. They have this amazing spiced seaweed wrap. That, and it's across the north bar line." He smiled. Filthy just nodded distantly.

Joe grumbled, "I'm not sure I want to wake up shitfaced someplace I can't recognize, for the second night in a row." He turned to Sky. "What about you?"

In turn, she looked to me. "I'm fine with whatever Blueblood feels like." She smiled.

Gross.

"Fantastic."

Author's Note

Any critiques or suggestions are welcome.