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About New York City

I saunter over, cool as you like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She laughs—proper throaty, makes me grin. “Tenner for a quickie,” she goes. Bargain, innit? But I’m ragin’ inside—ten quid? Inflation’s a bitch! Used to be a fiver in the ‘80s, swear down. Still, I’m chuffed—beats chasin’ Blofeld. We duck into an alley, all dark and damp, like the estate in the movie. “It’s all fucked, innit?” I mutter, quotin’ Mia’s mum. She nods, smirkin’, like she gets it.

Self-Care for Sex Workers

I love hanging around Rendezvous Park. Yes, that’s the name! A small patch of green near the Banana River. The river? It winds like a lazy serpent behind our quaint town. I recall a day (or ten, who’s counting?) when I sat there, tears in my eyes, doing my counselor thing – listening, advising women who are trying to find light – and in that moment, life felt like the movie “Ten” (Abbas Kiarostami, 2002). The line, “The possibilities are endless,” rang so true. Yup, my gut screamed that.

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