Located along Kamiti Road, just off Mirema Drive, Zimmerman is a rumbling arc of commotion, congestion, traffic, sin and rotting dinginess.

It's a never ending stretch of small businesses garishly-lit to attract passersby as the streets choke under the yoke of tiny liquor shops, selling tots of cheap gin as early as 7 a.m.

On one side of the road, furniture shops stretch for a couple kilometres, all selling practically the same design of couches, beds, bookshelves, and cabinets, with the traders lounging around all day, ready to pounce on the next undecided client, as his boys hammer away and scribble on books.

On the other side of the road, MPESA shops, kiosks, restaurants, dim nightclubs and pop-up markets litter the alleyways against the backdrop of old, decaying residential buildings, whose walls are bathed in dust and roofs crackle under the scorching sun. 

Along these battered streets, there exists an undercurrent of wantoness and avarice—a town desperately waiting for dusk before the dragons come out for blood.

Every Friday night, as the night kicks in and the drunkards come out to play, Zimmerman erupts into a remorselessly harsh concoction of traffic, human congestion, rowdy noise and chaos.

Hooting matatus fight for every inch of space - lawlessly cutting into thin dusty pathways and right past the local fish lady's stand, as the cutthroat competition for the road hits feverpitch. 

Here, traffic can last for painful hours, as it stretches all the way from Roysambu down to Canopy - an erratic convergence of busstops, roadside hijinks and smoky, street eateries.

Little almost-burlesque nightclubs litter the backstreets and, as you enter, you're slapped with inordinately loud music as your already-drunk friend half-yells your name from across a tottering 'sina tabu'.

As it nears midnight, the naughty girls too come out to play - dressed in tasteless little dresses, covered in horrific makeup, wearing cheap, sheeny jewellery and walking in crackling Gikomba stilettos.

Oh, and they almost all seem to have taken a trip down the 'mkorogo' clinic as their skin tone varies in color, depending on where you look. Their wigs too, are like dried twigs haphazardly tossed on their heads. 

Unlike the prim and elegant girls from the leafier parts of town, the Zimmerman girls are a little rundown - they're fairly old, ill-tempered, a little menacing, street-schooled and will knock you out at the slightest provocation.

The Zimmerman sex workers operate like they're still in the 90s and Nicholas Biwott is still the Total Man - they've eschewed the digital sex market, preferring to, instead, line up the entire street, Koinange-street style, boldly and brazenly calling out any male passerby, while throwing around a wrinkly wink and flashing a broken-toothed smile.

But while they can, at first, appear welcoming and warm, they're infact irascible sexual mercenaries who will throw around unprintable epithets and literally run you out of town if you appear snarky or ask them too many questions. 

As you totter down the street, you will definitely come across them, with their crinkly-eyed grimaces even more emphatically weaponised, all attempting to get your attention and lead you into a dimly-lit backroom from where Ksh. 200 will quickly exchange hands and you will be lucky to scamper away without a scratch.

Once they've netted a client, they quickly lead them through swirling, interlinked structures after which they lead them up a dark, stuffy stairway before stretching out their calloused palms, demanding for hard cash first before any move can be made. 

Most of these women actually come from far-flung areas, only pouring into Zimmerman every Friday and Saturday night, make a quick buck from the local lecherous drunk before escaping into their hideouts for the rest of the week.

"Hawa sio wa hapa. Ni wana wake wa mbali sana," Martin Odongo* (not his real name) a nightguard attached to one of the apartments, told Citizen Digital.

"Ni wamama wa kutoka mbali sana. Wanakujanga tu hapa kufanya biashara yao alafu wanapotea. Wanarudi tena the following weekend. Hakuna mtu anawajua, lakini huwa hawasumbui mtu," he adds.

On a good night, one can walk home with Ksh. 3000 after several rough hours of haggling as some clients can not only be irredeemably belligerent but also brutishly violent too. 

And while they may lack the twilight charisma of the infamous Koinange street damsels, they make up for it with their sheer grit and fearless tenacity. 

There's a lot that may attract these sex workers to Zimmerman - it's a town that is constantly bursting with youthful impishness and a town whose nighttime activities are not just dipped in carefree foolishness but also caked in reckless cheeriness.