“ She laughed at me.‘ My job? This ain’ t no job. This ain’ t a career choice for me. What the hell you thinkin’?’”
I rolled over, back to her.“ I don’ t care what you think,” I said.
“ But you have to get out of here.”“ My mom was a hooker, you know.” I grunted. All I wanted was to fall asleep and try to forget how much I hated myself.
“ She got me into this. Been turnin’ tricks since I was 12 or 13. I can’ t remember.” My oldest daughter was 12.“ She was my pimp for a couple years.
Then she got herself killed.”“ Sorry about that. Make sure you close the door on your way out.”
“ Do you know how trapped I am? I promise you, my pimp ain’ t gonna be happy about you makin’ me walk back. It ain’ t because it ain’ t safe. He’ s gonna miss out of more money‘ cause I’ ll be walkin’ instead of turning more tricks.”
“ I’ ll give you another five bucks if that’ ll get you out of here.”
“ Yeah. Why should you care? You just get to blow your wad and be done. I gotta do six, seven more guys tonight. If I don’ t, my daddy’ ll beat me.”
“ Then why don’ t you just quit your job.”
She laughed at me.“ My job? This ain’ t no job. This ain’ t a career choice for me. What the hell you thinkin’?”
The girl walked up to me. Moved her face right in front of mine. I leaned back, she grabbed my head and pulled me forward.
“ Nah, you gotta look at this face. And don’ t you never forget me.”
“ What’ s the matter with you?” I asked.
“ You think this is fun for me? That I get my jollies from screwin’ guys like you? Well, let me tell you this; I hate every single one of you sick creeps. You all make my skin crawly. And you are the reason for my hell.”
“ If you hate it so much, why don’ t you just get out?”
“ I might as well slit my own throat.” She sat next to me on the bed.
“ You know what happens if I don’ t show up to my pimp with money? He’ s gonna come lookin’ for me. Then he’ ll kill me.”“ I’ m sure they all say that.”“ He ain’ t jokin’. He’ ll do it. He’ s crazy, man.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.“ And ain’ t nobody gonna care if they find my body. Just another dead hooker.”
She turned her head, looked away from me.“ You should get going,” I said.“ Know what would make all this stop?” She turned back toward me.“ If
“ She laughed at me.‘ My job? This ain’ t no job. This ain’ t a career choice for me. What the hell you thinkin’?’”
guys like you could keep it in your pants.” She stood and walked to the door.“ If there weren’ t all you guys lookin’ for a quick and easy lay, there wouldn’ t be any girls like me gettin’ raped for money.”
She closed the door behind her. Her high heeled boots made a clicking sound on the balcony as she walked away.
And I was alone again. Wondering where I’ d find the next girl.
Each of the 27 silhouettes above represents a friend of the artist, and is symbolic of the 27 million slaves worldwide. By Ellen Bruex. 4