let the good times roll...

It’s been two hours, and still no client. Things will probrably pick up at the end of the month These heels are killing me. A car pulls up to the curb. I feel vulnerable in its headlights, like a fawn staring at its impending death in automobile form. I check my mascarra, and whipe away the smudges. I’ll say that it rained. He rolls down his window. I try to ignore the shadow of where his wedding ring was taken off, and rather focus on the green note in his hand. Sweetly, I throw up my enquiry. Quitely, I retch on my street corner, as I convulse while choking on my own question: “So, are you looking for a good time?”