Riverside and the Hooker

My friend lives in a bad neighborhood, the kind where you don't worry about the people who are missing. Homeless wander around his streets at night, probably during the day as well. Hookers conduct business nearby, trying to get that next fix. This is a story from a night in this neighborhood:

I walk outside, high on Sparks and a little marijuana. It is a Friday, not dissimilar from many other Fridays. I am ready to go to bed, can hear the siren calls of my sheets from all the way across town. It's a good feeling, happy exhaustion. From the distance I hear a, "Hey!" I know noone but my friend in this neighborhood, and it is not his voice. I ignore it. I move to open my car door. Again I hear a, "Hey!" proceeded by a, "Hold up!" or maybe, "Hold on!" I turn to see a small blond woman in a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans approaching at a too-fast walk, the walk of the stimulant. She is perhaps fifty feet away, flagging me down. She is small and a woman. I don't fear her, and so I wait. First I get in my car though, and hope she won't bother me. I am not that lucky. She walks up to my car and asks that I roll down the window. In my slightly inebriated state I accidentally roll down the rear driver's side window instead of mine. This accidental sign of mistrust actually works in my favor I think. She leans in, asks me to drive her to the store to get food for her baby. She says this too fast, the words spilling out. She shows me her stomach as proof of her motherhood. It is shriveled like a raisin and it makes me feel a little nauseated. Thankfully, she lowers her shirt. I agree to give her a ride. She offers to sit in back, but that is an impossibility. The backseat of my car is a catchall for anything that goes into my car. CDs are everywhere. There is an air filter for my air-conditioning unit that I keep forgetting to take upstairs. There are various other items that were not important enough to bother with taking upstairs at some point in time and have been sitting there ever since. There is also the fact that a stranger obviously on some form of cocaine or meth is not a trustworthy rear passenger. I do not fear her, but I'm not a complete fool. I transfer my CDs from the passenger seat to the blackhole that is the back, and she gets in.

She tells me her name, and I immediately forget it. She says there is a store not far. I am not familiar with the neighborhood, knowing only the quickest way to and from my friend's apartment. She gives me directions, while babbling at a high rate of speed. I pay little attention. I am judgemental and she is beneath me. Look at what has come of her life. She will offer me a sexual favor at some point for this simple kindness. It's pathetic. I don't like her, feel little sympathy for her. However, I am bound by my moral code, the "do unto others" bit. I cannot not help her. I converse in short sentences, "Turn here?", "Now what?" "That's too bad." I am not paying attention to most of what I'm saying. I look over every so often out of curiosity and get that nauseous feeling again. She is used up. She can't be more than 35, but she is wrinkled as much as my grandmother was in her final days. Her hair is bleached and brittle. Her eyes are too big. She is a junkie. She directs me to turn, tells me there is a store ahead. It is closed. I'm not to worry because there is another nearby, just a few blocks. This one is open. She needs money. I haven't thought of that, despite it being obvious. She does not want me to go in with her. Too embarrassing to have some stranger pay in public I suppose. I go in and use the ATM, take out a twenty. She is rocking in the seat when I return. A junkie. I give her the twenty. She thanks me, tells me she will reward me. I feel sick. She is not gone long and is walking hurriedly, even more than before. She gets in the car and tells me to leave. Another woman comes out yelling and pointing. It is her sister she says. I roll my window down to see what she is saying. It isn't nice. I don't stay. I pull out. She apologizes, complains about her sister's behavior. I do not comment. I am disgusted by her and am worried that I might say so if I speak. She directs me to another store, not far thankfully. She goes in, comes out after a time with an ice cream in one hand and a brown bag in the other. I ask what she got. I don't care. I drive her home. She asks me questions, "Are you married?" "Where do you live?" "Do you like head?" I answer, "No." "Southside." "Yes." She calls me sexy. I'm surprised that I like the compliment coming from her. I am still nauseous though. I tell her I didn't give her the ride for that. She says she just likes to do it, surely a lie. I do not flat out refuse, but make the point all the same. She directs me to a street, has me pull up to the curb. She thanks me and gets out. I drive home.