I didn’t think I’d be particularly good at it…just felt right, going it alone, even without the omnipresent pimp as company, for its kinds of protection. It had to do with the type of prostitute I’d become…not that I need moral justification for selling my particular services and products.
The market is full of tongues flicking to scratch itching ears with what they want to hear: that this thing—a thing—is what the single-minded need to get or keep themselves there, in the stratosphere of relief bleeding into resignation. This lust for what is new and promising stops their hearts beating but reanimates them for a time. It Follows and will catch up unless you’ve been given an ‘A’ for asexuality or apathy.
Mine was The Garden Friend Experience, which, similar to The Girlfriend Experience, resulted in me having more money than I would use while threatening to destroy a reputation my foresight released into the wild, so it would not grow up to be a good one.
I would reveal the scientifically proven, optimum amount necessary for exciting a desire to see more. The things I would say would be true and when I wanted to lie, I would ask, “What is its value to you?”
I would serve my customers while saving myself from dissimulation. My lasting compensation would be in mostly metaphysical currencies. When someone starts a conversation with, “Location?” I would not respond screaming, “GOOD MORNING!”, “GOOD AFTERNOON! “, or, “GOOD NIGHT!” but would understand how the unaccountability of faceless interactions facilitates rudeness, and would inquire after their interests to ensure I had what they wanted to take from me.
On a day like today, I would publish my page—photos up for “Public” to see, naked and unfiltered. And the bidding would begin.
Crumpled bills are placed in my hand. We even trade stories about our experiences after there is no need to convince anyone of anything, and before you return to being gone, out of my eyes and thoughts.
Promises are made and broken, but I iron, with the side of my hand, 120 Barbados dollars on my first day selling passion fruit plants. (The featured photo is my first fifty! Yea me!)
Passiflora edulis
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