Facebook Message to Marius 7/31/12
This is a message I sent to my friend on facebook. He suggested I publish it here. I thought about editing it up and rewriting it into an actual post, but fuck it. I’m pretentious enough to perblog, so I’m pretentious enough to post my personal “letters.”
Thats odd, you just disappearded.
I hope it wasn’t the whores thing. I mean, I’m not like moralizing. I just don’t hold that profession in very high regard, and I’ve never been much of one for buying pussy. I don’t think there’s any empirical evidence that would convince me it’s entirely wrong or whatever, it’s just not my thing. Because, like I said I feel prostitution is kind of sad.
Mostly because I knew many people who were sex workers. This one girl, she was like fourteen and doing it. She had a pimp, “her Man” as she referred to him as, and he’d arrainge work for her. Like middle aged businessmen who liked to fuck little girls, those kinds. She was a runaway out in Seattle, but she got picked up and put out on the track by her pimp before we got to bring her into the fold with the squatter punks.
Well, one night we’re all out drinking beer by the old Orion squat near the Greyhound station and hanging out with this one cabbie we knew. Dude was cool potatos. Older Muslim dude. Used to give us free rides in his cab anywhere if he was headed that way on a fare, or sometimes if he was just having a slow night. Sometimes I’d hang out with him just because he’d take me when he’d go pick up strippers, and I got to go in the club all official like and be like “Please inform Jasmine her cab has arrived.” But dude really looked out for all of us as much as he could. He always gave us food and lent us money and shit, and he even kept an old nylon string guitar in his cab that he’d let us play. Story was that his son had gotten strung out and overdosed on Heroin way back when, so he got religion and felt he was doing Allahs work by looking out for us. Seriously one of the best people I’ve ever known, this guy was.
Well this night we’re there and he’s got this girl with him. He gives us the lowdown, tells us she needs to get away from this dude who’s been pimping her but she refuses to go to any teen shelters or anything cause they’ll send her back home to Idaho. He asks us to take care of her cause she has no place to sleep or anything.
So, you know, situations like that arise and you just have somebodys back-you give them whatever they need cause thats what everybody did for you when you hit the streets. So she rolled with us that night, drinking and carrying on and talking till the wee hours of the morning. That night we all stayed at the Motorsports Garage, a loft in a broken into auto garage-the same garage where they used to throw shows sometimes. I think I mentioned missing out on a Dwarves/Mudhoney/Nirvana show they had there once, but there were others too.
Anyways, we had beer and some food and we’re hanging out-there’s like five of us and this girl. I’m sharing my beer and some dumpstered burritos with her and we’re all just bullshitting the night away. The evening wears on and everybody starts to get ready to crash. She’s sitting next to me, so I lay down to sleep and she lays down next to me. She was wearing some ridiculous outfit-like a mini skirt and some flimsy top. It was summer, but it gets a little chilly out there at night. So I gave her my leather to cover her.
I go to sleep, pass out. Wake up and she’s up against me trying to put her arms around me. I’m like, “Uh, naw, you don’t have to do that. Really, just sleep.” She says, “But this is what I do for all of them.” Tears welled up in my eyes dude. I shit you not. I was fucked up about this. I said, “But you don’t have to do it for me. Go to sleep. It’s alright.”
I don’t know what ever happened to that girl. We lost track of her and she disappeared like so many others. I’d like to think I made a difference. Like that I was at least some motherfucker who wasn’t out to drill her pussy because I’d done something nice for her. At least I wasn’t that guy. Maybe that made a difference in her life if only for that one small bit of time. Maybe not. Most certainly it didn’t make a whole lot of difference since if she even lived to see twenty she was undoubtedly so scarred and traumatized that me being a decent person back then probably never even occured to her.
But it occurs to me, she occurs to me. And thats one of the big reasons I think the sex trade is so fucking sad.