Part of a little short story by me

I really wanted to get some feedback on my writing. It's a new style for me, and I honestly don't know how good it is. Please, go ahead and be cruel.
There are also plenty of grammatical mistakes, since I did some extensive rewriting.
This is just the first couple sections, as I find the rest of it too unfinished to present just now.

Tonight everything is quiet in East Warren. A universally calm Sunday morning segued into a peaceful afternoon, and passed into a relaxing evening. Now all the kids are in bed while their parents enjoy Leno, the swingin' singles are home from a night of drinking and dancing, and a young man named Russell Sawyer is cleaning an HK UCP (advertised as "The Ultimate Combat Pistol").
Russell is nice guy with a pleasant face, good attitude, and self-inflicted cuts, burns and scars covering his torso. Once the gun is cleaned, oiled, and loaded to his satisfaction, he picks up a surprisingly large suppressor and screws it into the barrel. He holds it for a moment to get the feeling, then puts it back on the table next to a short-barreled Mossberg pump and a little stiletto knife.
Russell leans back in his chair; stares at the weapons laid out in front of him and scratches his neck. He decides everything is sufficiently cleaned, properly assembled, and correctly loaded, and stands up. He walks to the next room, taking off clothes en route.
He searches through the dresser and pulls out three long rolls of bandages. He wraps one around his left bicep, which appears to have been sliced repeatedly with a razor blade. The second goes on his right hand, wrist, and forearm, which is covered in second degree burns. The last bandage covers his stomach and chest, which appear to be crisscrossed with shallow scratches, almost as though someone raked their fingernails across them repeatedly.
He goes on to put on a comfortable flannel shirt and an old pair of jeans. He pulls out a well-worn pair of boots and slips his feet in. He moves back to his assembly of weapons, strapping the stiletto to his boot, and putting the two guns into a gym bag. He picks up the bag on the way out the door towards a blue 1958 Coupe de Ville.



Across town, on the border of Easy Warren and New City, the streets are a little dirtier, the cars are a little older, and the houses are a little smaller. It would definitely be an exaggeration to call it a "ghetto", and "slum" might be stretch, but "bad neighborhood" puts it a little lightly. There are no crack dens or meth labs, but there are a handful of dealers standing on street corners. No streetwalkers, but a couple classier call girls. No porno movie theatres, but three adult bookstores.
Outside of one of these bookstores, one of these call girls is being propositioned by one of these dealers and his cameraman buddy. He offered three hundred bucks for a half hour of solo work followed by a half hour of solid *******.
The dealer is named Brian Barry, and he only sells pot part time. His real passion lies in producing and staring in Internet pornography. Over the last three years he has tried a series of gimmicks for his website, finally settling on exhibitionism. He decided that the best name was the simplest one: Public Fuckers (subtitled: "We **** in Public"). The site just about broke even, all things considered, but Brian would happily run it at a loss. Such is his love of women!
"You just strip here and walk slow down the alley, then I bend you over and **** you by the wall," he explains.
The call girl is named Jenny, and is not a real call girl. Nor is she really named Jenny. She is actually named Jessica Arden but she took an alias when her dad beat the crap out of her for the last time and kicked her out of the house. She is beautiful, with medium length brown hair, and features that imply genuine kindness and compassion. Her fashion choices are bad, but in a subtle way, one that somehow only amplifies the impression that she is a very, very good person.
Brian only thought she was a call girl based on her proximity to the adult bookstore, and he propositioned her, as he does with every girl he sees by the store. In fact, she had just come out of the Laundromat next door, checking each change slot for a spare quarter or two, and just about to head to the McDonalds on the other side to buy her first meal in a day.
Brian says, "Come on, three hundred bucks an hour is good money. You can't do better than that."
The cameraman chimes in, "You look like you need a good *******."
Jessica's head says, "You will never forgive yourself for this."
Her stomach says, "You need food now."
Her mouth says, "I'll do it."