Tuesday, August 05, 2003

Easy Date

I was driving to work, a little later than I wanted to be - as usual.  The car was a bit run down, but serviceable - as was I.  My route took me down through Polk Gulch.  I was stopped at a traffic light, listening to loud music loudly.  My window was open so I could get some fresh morning air on my necktie and points north.  Her voice in my ear caught me by surprise.

I’d seen her on the street before; she’d always seemed like a woman who was in distress.  She was probably pretty, once, with curly brown hair and fair skin.  I would guess she was in her early 20s.  I’d seen her, at various times, scabby, snotty, washed out, strung out, and lying flat out on her back.  She typically wore the cheapest of tartware, trolling for tricks in the chilly early mornings when successful hookers were getting their sleep.  Not her.  She always looked so very tired as she trudged her wares at 7:25 am. 

She was at my car window.  I didn’t understand the burble of her words.  “I’m sorry, would you repeat that?” I asked automatically.  Tears had been pouring from her sunken eyes; she was out of them now.  Her face was bruised.  She wore a light t-shirt and panties.  No bra.  No pants.  Her legs were filthy and her skin was torn.  She repeated through sobs, “Mister, do you want a date?”

I was late.  I had ten dollars in my wallet to last the week - lunch money.  I shook my head.  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” I wanted to say more, to explain, to apologize, to let her know I knew who she was and wished things were different for her.  She didn’t have time for that.  She howled her despair into my car and, turning, out into the street.  She ran to another car going the opposite way.  I drove on, and eventually turned up the music again.  Even louder than before.  Regardless, I could still hear her solicitation reverberate against the shuttered buildings that lined the street. 

Lady, if I were going to hire a whore, it wouldn’t have been you.  But if I’d had the money to do that, I’d have given it to you outright.  You obviously needed it.  Lunch was bitter for the rest of the week. 

that aches.

A marketing failure.

when the brigade of remaining decent men gathers, dan, will you be its general?

decency can be a funny thing, it’s there when you need it least…

My first instinct is to drive my ass to San Francisco, and start combing the streets to find her so I can buy her lunch.

But then, like that time I cried for an hour about the boy on Haight with rotting feet and no socks, she probably wouldn’t take what I offered anyway.

Jesus.

you offered her jesus?

she had plenty of jesus, he was running out of the holes in her arms.  What she needed was Alexander Hamilton and a square meal.

I recently read that half of all the homeless in L.A. are drug addicts and alcoholics.  Having worked nights in downtown L.A. for many years I finally found a balance between giving and not giving.  But I found that the people I saw regularly around my city, on the streets, fighting to stay alive...well at least they aren’t forgotten even if there’s very little we can do for them.

that hurts me just reading it.  but i guess hard times call for a hard heart.

You’re such a copycat. I posted a prostitute story so you just had to do one too, huh?