70s: A Short Story

My most recent client is in his 70s, at least. His hands are clammy and I think his heart might give out while he is on top of me. Most girls would think that grandpas like him are full of sugar and spice, but I know better. The older, the more sleazy. But most of the time the money I get is pretty substantial, so I deal with it. At least he doesn’t ask to cuddle. The man at the Subway down the street from my apartment always asks. For some reason, they all like to believe that they are special. That after me being bored for an hour and not even moderately aroused, I am in love with them. Then they try to play this game where they think they will get away with not actually paying me. But their wives’ perfume won’t pay my bills.

After, when I have wiped the inside of my mouth out with all the napkins I can find in the dashboard of my car and counted how much I have earned, I like to look in the mirror and ask myself a question, as if I don’t already know where I am heading. I got the car from a guy named Ricky, who gave it to me after blasting out the serial number.

Okay, Nadia, what are we going to do now? …show more content…
So I start my car up, and listen to the tires screech as I swing into the street, heading to my boyfriend’s flat. I got the car from a guy named Ricky, who gave it to me after blasting out the serial number. He had a sketchy look about him, as if the cops would come take him again if they found out, but I needed a way to get home, and the pops of guns outside let me know I wouldn’t have much time to catch a bus. When I pull into the alley, the entire exhaust system falls onto the pavement, but it lasted two weeks, which is longer than I expected. Most of it will be gone within another week. The little boys like to salvage parts, and make pretend. Some of the big boys will salvage parts to sell to some sucker in the upper district, telling him that they’re from a vintage