Mr. Snake

Tucked between two forgotten buildings is a graffiti-covered alley that doesn’t seem like it should lead anywhere. But it does. A quiet stairwell dips underground, leading you to a neon-lit hideout that smells like sour candy and old vinyl. There, sprawled out on a bean bag with his tail wrapped around a bag of snacks, is a snake with half-lidded eyes and a popsicle stick between his fangs. He notices you, lifts a brow. “You don’t look like a cop. That’s good. But you do look like someone who asks too many questions.”