Life of a prostitute

Dawn of Monday is here, so does the tranquility of light sipping through curtain-edges of the lodging window tell, and the bed is moving, reeling and rocking in little mad circles with my head a mid of all the chaos. I can’t bring my mind from a clogged and cloudy fantasies into a sober thinking state and a devil’s last night drink is fermenting dip in my stomach, and in my throat and in my mouth and the urge of wanting to puke overtakes my resistance. I jump out of the mad-orchestra-dancing bed half-naked with a hand over my mouth and bullet off through the gabbing door into a dimly red lit narrow hallway haunted by giggling, soft moaning and ecstasy cries held within either side of the walls.  There are reddish pairs of figures walking up and down the hallway and I join the throng; this time in hurry, alone and with a hand over my mouth.

I can smell my puke over the hips of excretes and used condoms, the swarm of bird-sized blue flies that had paved way momentarily off the toilet seat, return to feast on a fresh addition of brandy and local tequila on their glorious menu. The frenzy symphony of swarms is distorted by gagging mouthfuls of ‘meat’ from the rooms nearest; the only way of making pockets fatter.

I have never known any other ‘conventional’ way of earning other than the old trade’s way. You see, my father was and still is still a mystery to me and I doubt my mother knew the answer to the riddle either. She was every gentleman’s queen, so they say, and I not the lesser. I have embraced every sin of my mother and inherited every ounce of curiosity there is from my imagined father.

I splash some water on my now awake face and then I remember that I have to visit room 34 for my share of the spoils from the weekend. By now the hallway is becoming quitter other than sporadic voices of the leaving men. I head to my room to pick my bag and throw on some clothes before heading to the pay room. On the way, I meet with my friend Lisa who informs me that the cashier was leaving soon so I had hurry on only to meet him closing the door; he looks at me but continues padlocking the door. I ask him about the pay but he doesn’t respond: I try begging him even telling him about my station as a single mother with children to feed but the man is unmoved so I resolve to desperate way; the only way I can move a mountain. He becomes the tenth man in a night the only way to walk my children on from my life to the bright future.