I wear little black dresses, take cabs, and visit the best hotels and restaurants in town. These woman shot up with puddle water, got in the wrong car and met The Bad Man. I might meet him too; however, I have the ability to insulate myself with technology and greatly reduce my risk. It's just weird, I guess, to know these women got in their last car roughly twelve blocks from where I type this post. I want my city to redeem itself, somehow. Could this happen in your city?
I am a prostitute. And sometimes I feel fucked up. Not because of what I do; but because sixty-five women in my city are dead. This is my city. These are the laws regarding prostitution. These are photographs of the kind of women who died. This is what happened to them. And I think it happened because we, as citizens, police, and maybe even the girls who kept getting into cars could not believe that this could really happen in our naive and sparkling city. Windsurf in the morning! Ski in the afternoon! Kill a hooker in the evening!