A couple of guys walked by my car and snapped me back to reality. “Okay, I can do this,” I whispered.

I flipped down my visor mirror and looked at the job I had done with my makeup. I had plastered my eyes with so much shadow that I felt like one of the girls in the many porno flicks I’d watched to get myself pumped up. Diane had told me that’s what she did to make herself feel sexy. She said after filling her head with X-rated images and downing a few shots of Henny, she was usually good to go. I was hoping for the same magic when I felt for half-pint bottle of Hennessy that I had picked up on the way there. I opened the bottle and took another swallow. This is nothing more than a new adventure, the tiny voice in my head encouraged.

I thought back to earlier that day when I was cornered and felt up by Pervert Chuck ’cause I didn’t have all the rent money. I felt disgusted with his hands all over me. If I really wanted to be honest about it, I let him do it. I didn’t scream or fight him off. I did very little in the way of protest. I allowed him to trap me in that corner and touch my body, because that’s what it took to cover the rest of the rent.

I knew I’d be meeting the same type of pervert behind those walls. So I had to ask myself what was the difference? What was the difference between me dancin’ naked in front of a bunch of men for money, and being felt up by one because I was short with my rent again? Although neither choice seemed too appealing, the answer was simple: It was all a matter of choice and what I was willing to do, and money. The truth was that there was no difference. It was all about the money.