I observed her from behind my raised window
The cool of the air-conditioner teasing my skin
Her lips were painted bright red
Her finger nails painted a cheap nail polish, chipping at the edges
Her face bleached and her hair dyed blonde
The tiny hair on her face shining in the dim light
As she stood under the neon of the street lamp
The white in her eyes reflecting the light
Her skin fair but harsh with the repeated use of cheap cosmetics
She paced on her high heels, not ungracefully
With the unconscious ease of someone who’s done it so many time before
As the strap of her spaghetti top slid down her shoulders
She let it be
A practiced gesture, she put a leg forward
Teasing with the display of skin below her short skirt
She might have been pretty
She might have been young
But that didn’t matter in the night, in the streets where she walked
I wanted to lower the window
To go close
To see if she had pain in her eyes
Did she smell of sweat and cheap perfume?
Of alcohol and cigarettes?
Were there bruises on her skin?
What made her walk the streets for money?
Provocatively pleading every passer-by
Did she want my pity?
Did she enjoy what she did?
Or did she want out?
Was there a resigned acceptance of what life had offered to her?
What if she were born as I am?
Would she have been my friend?
Sitting with me in the comfort of the soft-cushioned air-conditioned car