She stood on the street corner outside a club smoking. Waiting. Scoping out passersby for potential clients. It was almost midnight and her pimp was getting impatient sitting in his Volvo a hundred feet away. Occasionally Tony flashed his lights at her.

A finger lightly tapped her fur coat clad shoulder. The gentleman proceeded to proposition her in his thick French accent. She sized him up and asked for payment upfront. She put it in a brown paper bag and discreetly dropped it in the trash can next to her when he turned his back.

Grabbing Frenchie’s hand she pulled him into the half-empty nightclub and led him to the bathroom. She went through the motions. He was quickly quenched as she was aptly drained.

Frenchie left and she couldn’t help but break into tears. She was exhausted but her night had only begun. Complaining would only make things worse for her with Tony. Traces of the stinging warmth she got from his splayed fingers still lingered on her face. She’d asked for the night off so that they could spend time together and rekindle their love. Oh how she still loved him even though to him her body was nothing but a commodity.

Love. Funny word. All the idiotic things she’d done in pursuit of such vanity. Trusting Tony to help her look for her family though they barely knew each other. Falling in love and moving to Rwanda with him. What was left for her at home anyways? She was unemployed, in debt and would have been out of love if Tony left her.

She stared back at her reflection in the spotted mirror. Something told her to wipe away her tears but they had long dried. Their residual salt burned away at her flesh leaving a temporary marker of the sorrow that had permanently taken root in her soul.

What was to become of her?