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I go up, say, “Hey, what’s good?” She’s chill, eyes me up, says, “50 bucks.” I’m like, “Damn, inflation hit *you* too?” She laughs—dry, no soul. Little known fact, tho—back in the ‘80s, prostitutes in Reno had a union. Swear to God, organized as hell. Benefits, dues, allat. This chick? Solo, no 401k, just vibes. Makes me sad, man, where’s the teamwork?

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At Okubo Park, there are no pimps — just men, including foreign nationals, looking for paid sex and young women there to give it. By 8 p.m., there were around 30 women waiting to be called .

Finally, I get through the day. I’m exhausted. I walk home along the river, and it’s beautiful. The sunset over the water is stunning. I take a deep breath, and for a second, everything feels right.