I leaned onto the passenger window sill and looked at a cute younger guywho seemd a little nervous. Problably just as much as me. Good thing Iwas on the other side of the door so he couldn't see that my legs werevisibly shaking."I need some directions. I need to get off at the I-69 highway andwandering if you could give me a hand? he said confidently emphasizing"Hand." Apparently he has done this before with the smooth way it cameout.I stammered out something about my appointment and that I may be aroundlater. He just smiled at me as he pulled away down the alley onto theother street. That made me feel a little better than a few minutes agowhen the other guy did his thing. Is this the way a street girl feels?The ups and downs of the customer rejecting or accepting you? I'mguessing it is.Thirty minutes later after finishing my favorite shot, a lime gimlet, (Aquarter lime juice and three quarters gin) I was still waiting for mydate to show up. I must have looked interesting enough for a. The rings on his finger said leave it, but the glint in his eye begged and beckoned.People all around grabbed their belongings and scattered in all. Brip, brap, sputter. Wheels on tile. Click, clack, click, dress shoes and stiletto hills cut through the din with a rhythm ignored. I followed at a short distance and saw that she was laughing at something – that same girl he’d sat next to on the train. Part of me wondered if she was trying too hard. It wasn’t my business, but I kept wondering. A friend had been generous enough to offer me his spare bedroom for my little weekend holiday in Chocolate City. There had always been something about the air in Washington that allowed the little head to take control of all higher functions. It was evident in the eyes of every man. Symbolic islands drifting together pulled by the gravity of pulsing cocks. I thought I had drawn a line that I wouldn’t cross, but the older I get the harder it becomes to see. I told myself as a consolation, he was.
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