<p><strong><em>OCD, anyone? Here, everyone is obsessed with something . . .</em></strong></p><p>Twisting in the excruciating abyss of adolescent self-rejection, Kristi Lou Jones was a freakishly tall seventh-grade girl. Agonizing insecurity compelled her to feel grossly unfeminine. Exacerbating her fear of height (her own) was the daily presence of her diminutive teacher who felt unmasculine because of his shortness and over whom she towered. Both viewed the contrast on display Monday through Friday as a cruel exhibition of genomic injustice:&nbsp;<em>Why is he so squat? . . . She stole my genes!</em></p><p>Now, she&rsquo;s 21 and ready to use her vertical surplus to her advantage. Deciding to take a hiatus from college, she turns to&nbsp;<em>Downtown Secrets</em>, a Detroit brothel operating under the guise of a blues music club. The blasphemous nightspot is pleased to employ all 6&rsquo; 1&rdquo; (she prefers 5&rsquo;13&rdquo;) of Kristi Lou&mdash;including her 44-inch legs. While harvesting mounds of cold cash and meeting an array of odd personalities, she indulges her raison d&rsquo;&ecirc;tre: her obsessions.</p><p>Soon, this impassioned heretic stumbles into a bizarre milieu of vehicle theft and vengeance-fueled, retaliatory savagery. Who are these mercenaries?</p><p>Grappling with self-doubt about her venture into harlotry, extreme self-analysis, zealous dogmas about sexual unfairness perpetrated against men, and a near-maniacal zeal regarding atheism, Kristi Lou, whilst coming to recognize her oppressive loneliness, finds humor and warmth as she journeys through a hot August that delivers her to the threshold of answering her question:&nbsp;<em>What am I supposed to be doing with myself?</em></p><p>&nbsp;</p>