The Working People

Tonight is no different to any other night, it’s the same routine on repeat. The clock shows 10pm. I open my wardrobe and reach for my low-cut top and black mini skirt. Slipping on my heels and pulling on my jacket I’m ready to leave.

Standing on the roadside I shiver. I pull my jacket around my chest and hope a punter sees me soon. I can see Charlene down the road, her jacket slung over her shoulder as she leans into a car window. I watch her throw her gum on the floor as she walks around to open the passenger door.

Most of the women out working these streets are from broken homes, they have been abused and have turned to drugs for escape. When the money dries up they have no choice but to stand out here. I wish my story was different but it isn’t.

I hate standing here, one day I’ll quit, get clean and not have to turn tricks to earn cash. The day will come when the routine will be different. I long to put on a suit and for people to look at me with respect. I will be an equal rather than a sex toy.

For now though, I can see a car coming, its car lights shining bright. The car pulls over, it’s John. I smile I like John, he gives me no trouble and always pays me more than I charge. I jump into the passenger seat. He reminds me to put my seat belt on and he drives me to our usual spot.

The power suits and respect must wait for another day.