when i was young i used go down to rush street and talk to the whores

this was before they cleaned up rush street and put a house of blues there

it was a dirty little street filled with equally dirty whores that stood on the sidewalk in plastic looking miniskirts and long boots

they had fishnet stockings and crop tops and heavy blue eye shadow and smeared lipstick on their front teeth

they would tease me as i rode my bike and yell things at me about spending my allowance and seeing heaven

i never did have sex with them but i would laugh and joke with them on the slow nights

they would take turns saying the dirtiest things they could to make me blush and then they would giggle and call me cute and muss up my hair

there’s no one as honest as a bored whore i learned

they cursed like sailors and had stashes of booze in brown paper bags all over the place

on the busy nights i would ride up and down the street and look at the johns as they pulled up to the girls they preferred

some were nervous and twitchy and the girls got nervous around them

but money was money and no one is as brave as a whore

getting into rusty cars and blowing strangers only to lose most of the money to the pimp

and i rode up and down the streets as cars squeaked on rusty hinges and the girls screamed like they had never been fucked so good and then would climb out and blow a kiss and laugh and laugh about the two pump chump as they folded ten dollar bills and stuffed them into their high boots

sometimes the girls disappeared or found a man that didn’t know what their night job was to marry them or they ended up dead with a needle in their arms

but dicks don’t take nights off and neither did they even in three feet of snow with a burning garbage can for heat they plied their wares

and then one day the cops came and every night after that they cruised the couple block stretch until the construction started and the whores had to find a new street to walk in another shitty neighborhood

they made me swear to never be that kind of guy that cruised around looking to pay for ass

not to be a sicko or a pervert or two pump chump with more money than cock

they were sweet and kind and dirty and disgusting and each was lovely in her own way i guess

as long as the street lights weren’t too bright

or the pimps weren’t too angry

at least they were always sweet to the fat kid on his bike with the broken home

and that’s enough sometimes

that’s enough

the strippers were pretty much the same when i worked in the club

but i was older and the teasing was less innocent fun and more

it was a good place for a young guy to work i suppose

they’d see the guys in the crowd that fell in love with every article clothing removed and milk them in a different way for their hard earned dollars

money they lost seventy five percent of to the house

sodden bills they’d hand to me to count out that had been coated with fluids and sweat and no amount of sanitizer would ever quite clean

they were less honest though

making the men fall in love with them a dance at a time and ultimately getting in my car at the end of the night for a ride home

the college girls that discovered shaking their ass somewhat in time to whatever song played paid more than the education they would most likely never complete

reinvesting in fake tits and fake hair and dreaming of finding that rich man that would take them away from it all

but most of the clientele weren’t the rich men they sought so they made due with whatever they could find

no one dreams bigger than a whore or a stripper

always looking for mister right

settling for mister right now

and sometimes it’s enough

not always

but sometimes

but as long as there are lonely men they will have a job and that’s better than some industries can say

better by far