Who Expects That From a Crack Ho?
this entry brought by the fiery furnaces, "gale blow"
I was walking to lunch today, and I saw what seemed to be a crack-whore. You know, the kind that you would expect to give a handjob for five bucks and you still wouldn't be surprised if you somehow ended up with herpes. Now, for the record, I don't know for certain if she was actually a prostitute. But drugs, specifically crack or meth, were a definite. She was missing teeth, face deeply pock-marked, hair stringy and falling out. He arms were bone thin, but she had a gut flopping over her belt. This was the skankiest, most wretched kind of crack ho you could imagine. Looked a little like this:
But as I walked by... she smelled good! Who the hell expects that? And I don't mean "cheap perfume" smelling good, I mean a long bath with bath beads, expensive, exfoliating soaps, wonderful smelling deodarant, spring-breeze fabric softened clothes.
And I thought, you know, that's dedication. She's hideous, and she's probably been hooking for so long she can't possibly get into it anymore-- not that, honestly, anyone willing to be her John would care-- but at least she does what she can to make her client's experience as pleasant as it can be. I mean, it's the little things that count, don't they? I think if I were to sink low enough to want such a woman to bring me to climax, if she smelled bad on top of it all, I don't know how I'd make it through the rest of the day without jumping off a building. But since she smelled nice, I could maybe close my eyes and pretend I was doing something else so I could look myself in the mirror. No, it wouldn't be for another couple years before I could bring myself to look in a mirror, but at least I could do it eventually.
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with love from CRS @ 7:04 PM
Saturday, October 08, 2005
I was walking to lunch today, and I saw what seemed to be a crack-whore. You know, the kind that you would expect to give a handjob for five bucks and you still wouldn't be surprised if you somehow ended up with herpes. Now, for the record, I don't know for certain if she was actually a prostitute. But drugs, specifically crack or meth, were a definite. She was missing teeth, face deeply pock-marked, hair stringy and falling out. He arms were bone thin, but she had a gut flopping over her belt. This was the skankiest, most wretched kind of crack ho you could imagine. Looked a little like this:
But as I walked by... she smelled good! Who the hell expects that? And I don't mean "cheap perfume" smelling good, I mean a long bath with bath beads, expensive, exfoliating soaps, wonderful smelling deodarant, spring-breeze fabric softened clothes.
And I thought, you know, that's dedication. She's hideous, and she's probably been hooking for so long she can't possibly get into it anymore-- not that, honestly, anyone willing to be her John would care-- but at least she does what she can to make her client's experience as pleasant as it can be. I mean, it's the little things that count, don't they? I think if I were to sink low enough to want such a woman to bring me to climax, if she smelled bad on top of it all, I don't know how I'd make it through the rest of the day without jumping off a building. But since she smelled nice, I could maybe close my eyes and pretend I was doing something else so I could look myself in the mirror. No, it wouldn't be for another couple years before I could bring myself to look in a mirror, but at least I could do it eventually.
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