“Twenty bucks, I’ll make sure she can’t get to you for at least 12 hours.” She says. You’re slightly jarred by her bluntness and begin to look her over again. Patched clothes, walking around in the slums… this girl isn’t a hipster… she’s a cheap prostitute. Come to think of it, she does seem like she might be drugged out a little.
“Listen umm…” You stammer realizing that you don’t know her name.
“Annie.” She says.
“Annie.” You repeat, “I’m Troy,” you introduce yourself to be polite and take her hand. “You’re a…” she interrupts you before you can finish.
“Is that a problem?” She asks.
Yep, she’s a hooker. A very cute one, but…
“Now I’m saying for 20 bucks you can hide in here for a while.” She says, rubbing her hands down her torso. “I promise you’ll come out safe.” She says “And you won’t find a better price around here.”
You think about this. She promises you’ll come out safe? What is this anyways? Do you trust her?