A door to a cheap hotel room with brick wallpapers bangs open. It is fifteen minutes past midnight. The room smells of cheap cigarettes and dumpiness. A lady in a skimpy dress and white high heels walks in back first trying to support something that weighs more than her. She is supporting a drunk man, leading him into the room. The man keeps leaning over her but she calmly supports him to the bed. “Let me freshen up first okay” she tells the man as she goes to the bathroom. “Don’t stay too long” was the only sensible thing he had said after the alcohol kicked in. She does not look back. She disappears into the dimly lit bathroom.
Silver looks into the mirror that’s full of watermarks, her breathing is heavy. Her make up does not look as good as it was a couple of hours before. Her lipstick is smudged from making out in the club with drunk people who could not even find her lips. Her face looks like it is melting off from the sweating and people touching her face. She is still staring at the mirror. “God” old pink by Pleasent to listen to:

SILVER: Forgive us who do not know the difference between love and lust. We who cannot measure how far “too far” is. I would ask you to tie my legs right now but no, I still want to be creative, not with words, art or my flexibility but with my blood and heart. They never know my name. The righteous ones, the ones that love you so dearly call me a sin that breathes and walks while my clients know me as Sapphire, Lola, Crystal or Anastasia.
Why is life so unfair? Some get more than they ask for by kneeling and saying a few words while others need to do a lot more on their knees in order to get just a fraction of what they want in life. I work in a bakery during the day, a lady with a lovely smile. A happy family comes in on a lovely Sunday afternoon in their multi-coloured Sunday bests smiling like they belong to one of those breakfast cereal commercials. Then I look at the man of the family, I thought I recognized him from last week. One could never forget that big belly that made him lay down like a dead fish and his awful constant drool. Next to him was his son, who he seemed proud of. Yesterday was his eighteenth birthday. His friends brought him to me so that I could make him a man but before I could take off my skirt, the lanky boy ran out screaming and as soon as the door closed his friends began to laugh at the poor boy.


She sits on the toilet bowl and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter from her bra and lit the cigarette. She then takes off her high heels and loosens her dress. art, girl, and cigarette image:

SILVER: You see God, I do this for the money,man shall toil for produce. I have no bad intentions and neither do my co-workers, it is those who think that they love you who come with the bad intention. For they know what they have in their lives; the good and the bad. Can money drop like manna? If it can I will stop this shameful profession right now. See, this is a job that I do not enjoy. I even ask myself what rights my co-workers keep asking the government for. Imagine, a section of the constitution for sex workers. What do they want? To be supplied for free mattresses and pillows to wreck homes or destroy people’s fairy tales? This work is not enjoyable, you cannot force pleasure. I sit in a restaurant drinking a mocktail disguised as a cocktail. The bar tender and I have an arrangement, whenever a man goes to the bar, the bar tender tries talking him into looking my way. When he does, the man will approach me and ask to buy me a drink. The man will go back to the counter and whisper to the bar tender something like “Get her something strong that will make her loosen up a little” but the bar tender gives him the mockatail and assures him that it is strong enough. In this job you need to be sober so that the man does not overstay his visit. We get to the room and I let him, watch him having pleasure, enjoying while I stare at him blankly because a lady needs more than rubbing genitals to experience the pleasure. They need chemistry, emotions. But who cares, finish and give the money. Will I ever find a man I love in this condition? I thought that there was an Adam for every Eve? He best have the body of an Oscar and the come in golden armour which we will sell to a pawn shop and buy a mansion.

She chokes on the cigarette filter. The man outside bangs on the door complaining about his money and his time. She rolls her eyes and continues.
SILVER: Whoever came from his rib (She says under her breath)

Some want a dominatrix while others want a slave. Others want a lover while the others just

anarchism sitting on the toilet: love the thrill of it. Others think that they are on an adventure while others just want to talk. Others look for a psychiatrist while the rest just try to look for medicine in the wrong places. The righteous book an appointment with their white shoes, pretending to be clients hoping to talk to me and change my life so that they can preach about me as a testimony to show how mighty they are. All “I” but no “He” until it’s time to give the offering where they say “God is watching you” so that you can give more. The rest of the congregation nods in pity and marvels at the fact that this man of God converted a prostitute. Why are your men so dramatic and why are they such show offs. Call me and talk to me in church or over coffee or something.
God watch over me. Washing my body with water is not enough. If you do not like what I am doing then help me…fix me.
She opens the bathroom door and finds the man blacked out. She picks some money from his wallet and tip toes out of the hotel room. Thirty minutes later, she is being led into a hotel room by another client.
CLIENT: (Handing her a maid’s costume) Put this on and wipe that make up off your face.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: