205 - Hookerella


The clock strikes eleven forty-five, which is totally a thing that happens, and you know the time your Homeless Fairy Godmother gave you is almost up.

“When the clock strikes midnight, the trashy hobo disguise I’ve enchanted onto you will dissolve, and your true, middle class, totally not a crack-whore self will be plain for all to see,” she said in those words exactly.

The evening has been magical in more ways than one, and Silky Smooth, the “Prince of the Streets”, which is definitely a real title and not made up, has been a true gentleman and a charming courter. If he were to see you as you truly are, a well-kept woman from the suburbs that bathes regularly and not the well-ridden drug-addict prostitute you have paraded yourself as all night, it would be disastrous for the relationship you hope to cultivate.

“I have to go!” you say emphatically to Silky, who replies wordlessly with a surprised and angry look. You run out of the crack house and into the street. A single moldy slipper falls off of your foot as you traverse the doorstep.

Bitch, you ain’t done workin’!” Silky shouts after you, but you’ve already rounded the corner. He gives chase after you as the clock tower at St. Anthony’s gives out twelve loud chimes. As he catches up to you, he finds not his prized lot lizard in an ill-fitting tank top and jean skirt but a healthy-looking twenty-something in a cable knit sweater and chinos.

“You see a skank run by here?”  he asks. “She owes me money.”

“No,” you reply simply. As he turns and walks away, you shed a single tear. You’ll always owe him money…in your heart.