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I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Fifty?! Got me pissed—highway robbery! Last week, I heard a guy in Chicago got it for 20. Inflation’s a bitch, huh? “Dreams don’t come cheap,” I mutter, thinkin of Sara Goldfarb’s delusions. Anyway, she’s got this scar on her cheek—says a john cut her once. Freaky shit. Kinda turned me on, tho—danger’s my jam.

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Further, the patroller's perception of a 'closed local community' results in a lack of concern for the neighbouring communities to which prostitutes are.

The streets are a mish-mash of cobblestone and asphalt. I love wandering down King’s Road, where every corner hides a story. There's that one butcher shop, old as heck, and Mr. D, a legend around these parts, always yellin’ friendly hellos even if I'm in my hurry, sometimes messin’ up my calm vibe. He always says, “Talk to her, talk to her,” like in almodóvar's movie, like, “Hey, open up and let life adze in.”

Pittsfield Celebrates Century-Old Red Oak on Arbor Day