![]() ![]() The day-to-day work I performed required devising new and improved ways to elude vice cops, not go to jail, and not end up dead. When I faced the reality of what I had to do to survive – sell my young, “innocent” body on the streets of a city where men were hungry to buy it – some primal inner worker and survivor kicked in and made up a lot of rules that I strictly followed to ensure I’d make it out alive someday. I lifted a bottle of Welch’s grape juice to my lips and gulped down the purple juice in a signal meant to say, “I’m innocent.”Įverybody’s got a little light under the sun I stood next to the car but refused to get in. “Well, can I at least give you a ride somewhere?” he asked in defeat, then pushed the door open and beckoned me into his lair. ![]() His head stretched off the stem of his neck, leaning so far toward the passenger door that it looked ready to fall off his shoulders and topple into the gutter. “Look, you got the wrong girl,” I shouted. He stepped on the gas, slipped around the corner, and circled back next to me. He inched along towards a red light as I propelled myself forward. You got the wrong girl,” thinking how much I really was the right girl.Īpparently “no” was not part of Mr. The vice cop’s hand rested on the passenger seat in an open invitation for me to get busted. The Cadillac crawled along next to me, whitewall tires spinning so slow I could trace the circles that contained them. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. ![]()
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