Its 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and there’s a light mist falling from a dead end sky. It mid July so even though its dark as pitch my body’s so hot and sweaty even if it wasn’t raining I’d still be soaking wet because its 90 degrees out and I’m walking the streets again.

Like most nights out here, I’m alone. Prostitution contrary to popular belief is a party of one. A potential customer might get confused if he were to see two ladies strolling down the avenue. Then there’s the $ and the dope I’d have to share but, when I consider that I’m giving all my $ to the dope man and I’ve gotta break off something for the houseman, it’s the same thing, or is it?

Just another day, just another dollar and there are no guarantees that today will be a good day or that the next dollar will be a good one either. When most days just drift one into the next when you’re on the eight-day running of a nine day marathon and your heart, mind and soul belong to that devils dick you suck on night and day, crack cocaine.

This is my story, much like many girls who seek what’s on the other side of the rainbow. Life of the party, a real pearl of great price. For a good time, or should I say good for a time until some brighter star falls on the rich side of town.

My days are spent here where good girls go to be bad; the other side of the tracks, a stopping off place just this side of hell. If you can call it living. I get by. Believe it or not crack helps. It helps me to turn off my feelings. Feelings of guilt, shame, disgust, rage and fear. And lets not forget the big one hate, h-a-t-e.

Hey, there’s Joe, maybe he’ll turn around, he’s always good for a few bucks. Yep, he’s turning around. It won’t be long now, a couple of trips around the block and he’ll drop me off at the dope man’s house, or maybe I’ll just go home. Home, what I’m really saying is the crack house with no electricity or running water and roaches the size of a small dog, that I’ve been out here tricking 24/7 to support someone else’s habit and to be someone else’s party girl.

Why? Why do I do it? Oh yeah, crack! I almost forgot crack cocaine. The ultimate rush like being shot out of a canon straight for the moon. Your ears start ringing and it sounds like you’ll just boarded the southbound train to Miami but in all actuality if you’re not out of your seat checking every door and window for the police you haven’t even left your seat. The sad part is that its such a short trip and before I know it I’m back on the street again, starting day 9. Some life, huh?