from the Archive
Once, I went out in the middle of the night for a long run. I stopped by Shanghai Alley to do my stretches. There I was, huffing and puffing with my face a nice rosy pink like the nether parts of a slutty baboon and bent over in any number of undignified and unflattering poses, thinking about the way my greasy hair was sticking to my forehead and the way I looked in my baggy sweats. Along came a hooker, skinny the way they all are, with the bones sticking out and that look like they would shatter if you gave them a sharp rap. She was very reluctantly following a customer into the bushes in the little park and when she saw me she called out,
“Way to go, girl, way to be healthy. Not like a sick junkie hooker!”
I replied, “Yeah, but I’m fatter than you,” to keep the interaction going. I mean, I wasn’t going to take her for dinner, but you can’t just drop it; that makes people feel so small. When they reach out of The Life you have to support them and not turn your back. Hell, it’s the least you can do.
“No, no, you look good, lookin’ healthy! You keep going, girl!” and she went. Never seen her since.
raincoaster 