Thursday, October 27, 2005

Dinner with Tracy

Eating chips on the way home last night.

Delicious, as only really-bad-for-you-fast-food can be.

One of the local working girls is at the corner of London Road. This one is blonde, wearing too-high heels, a too-short denim skirt, and a dark hoody. I vaguely recognise her, she and her colleagues often ask for cigarettes, phone money, and of course business.

They should know by now that I never give them any of these things, but undaunted this girl wobbles over (those silly shoes) and says, Gizachip darlin? in a part request and part order kind of tone.

It seems mean to refuse, so I offer her the bag. Energised by a friendly transaction that doesn't involve money or sex, she grabs a chip and gobbles it down. Close up, she's got that very thin pale look that I associate with thin genes (myself) or drugs (everyone else).

Take another, I say, and she does, along with a cue to start chatting. Very quickly I learn:

  • Her name is Tracy
  • I have a nice smile
  • She comes from Chester
  • My hair is nice
  • She lives just around the corner
  • Some Serbs were pestering her earlier only offering £5 for sex.
  • I'm very polite and kind
  • She's charging £25 for oral followed by sex.
  • The chips are nice
  • I have a nice voice
  • She has a child
  • The father was very violent.
  • I'm a gentleman.
  • She's 22.

A few more chips, then as we part she whips up the skirt from the back to show a flash of white skin and black thong. I'm not sure if this supposed to be an advert, a thank you for the chips, or a show of contempt. Maybe all three.

Back at the flat I finish the chips and watch a documentary on Ceaser's Conquest of Gaul. I wonder if the police could have done me for soliciting, and can you catch AIDS from chips?



Blogger Penny Doll said...

Damn! Makes you wonder how the hell she got to that point...wish you could have learned that during your brief dinner. Have a great weekend! Love and blessings...p

4:33 pm  

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