A Hooker

When I saw the lady with crutches and fishnet stockings, I didn’t know she was a hooker.  I was too young to identify a woman by her profession.  It was my father who informed me.  In a polite, gentlemanly manner. He was educating me on the sort of neighborhood it was.

I remember being surprised to find it possible to identify a hooker by looking at her.  Her work was so private.  How could one know her job simply by looking at her on the street?

Only later, at a dance club in the lower Twenties in Manhattan, did I learn the illogic of my surprise.

One had to know a hooker’s job by looking at her.  How else could it possibly work?

For a hooker to succeed, one had to be able to know her profession at a glance.

It was silent advertising…

…staring out into the public, with “love me” printed on her eyes.

 

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