Working Girl

Greetings from merry old England! I’m the new man around hamburbloggers and I’m here to keep you all up to speed on the goings on in Ye Old London town. I’m sure you will all find that shit very exciting. This story, however, has nothing to do with London, England, or traveling, and may indeed be the sketchiest thing that’s ever happened to me in the city. Enjoy

As I was walking home from mo'money’s house last night (or two nights ago, I have no clue, I’m fucking jet lagged), my leisurely walk home was stopped by a Don’t Walk sign at 103^rd and b-way. Being the good, if somewhat fucked up, Samaritan, I of course stop. I’m really not paying that much attention to my surroundings, fantasying about how English people will love me and my charming American ways, when suddenly a sultry feminine voice croons into my ear, “Hey you looking for a date." My first thought was, how does she know that? I am looking for a date. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the dating scene or what have you, but I have been looking to get back in - find the right girl, settle down, have some kids, yadda yadda yadda. But then as the slow gears in my brain start working, I realize that a woman saying that in your ear at 3 a.m. on Broadway has less to do with getting dinner and a movie, a cup of coffee, or a beer, and much more to do with me give her 20 bones for a blowjob. I, feeling very uncomfortable, say "I'm sorry ma'am, I don't have that much money," and try and walk away. She follows me saying, "well how much you got?" This of course, stops me dead in my tracks – part of me wants to see just how far I can get this lady-of-the-night to drop her price, and the sane part of my brain wants to go home without an STD. This is when I actually look at her face, and the part that wants to haggle shuts up. I tell her politely that I'm not looking for a date and keep walking. I think that I'm now in the clear, and that was just something silly that happens sometimes in the city.

Two blocks later her pimp catches up to me. Her motherfucking PIMP. He is a big big scary looking gangbanger, not at all like the Snoop-Dog-cute pimps that you see in movies. This is a fucking scary-guy-trying-to-make-ends-meet-by-selling-the-bodies-
of-women-he-regularly-beats-up pimp. I'm calculating how high pitched and loud I can scream if he tries anything. "Hey Man you looking for a girl?" No I say, and keep walking. He is now walking beside me. "Well I got other girls if you didn't like that one. You want a white girl?" Why the fuck does he have to go and make it all racial? No, I say, beside the oral herpes, that one was fine. He is still following me. "Well would you like some drugs?" No, I'm fine thanks, I already did some tonight and I think I'm good. "Do you wanna come smoke a joint with me?" No thank you. I am humbled by your generosity in sharing your bud, but frankly I'm terrified of you and I just want go home now. "That's cool. Sorry to bother you man. I'm sure you don't need to tell nobody 'bout this. Have a good night." I can't even begin to think who would want to hear about this sir. "Bye." He smiles, showing his teeth, several of which are missing, and a few of them are gold. He then turns around and walks the other way. I keep walking toward my house, never looking behind me, because I'm too terrified he is following me.

So the moral of this story is this: If approached by a lady of the night, don’t tell her you don’t have enough money. Tell her you have none. Also real pimps are scary and yet very polite. Oh and I guess the last moral of the story is that if you wanna buy a cheep hooker you can find them at 103 and b-way.

LDR OUT