Lala land

Apparently 'Party Row' is a term that doesn't really apply here. Every row has the potential for a party.

There is one place though, that stands out. Between the third and fourth rows, there is an asphalt slab about ten feet wide, bordered by an 18 inch concrete curb. Both the third and fourth row trucks back up to the slab, so it creates a fairly reliable party spot; there are two giant lightposts on the slab, and our first night out here there was a group of nine Bosnian truckers having a cook-out.

At first they were a little wary of us--everyone out here seems wary of everyone else--but after Alex had a very short conversation with them in Russian, we were offered steak-sandwiches from the grill and beers.

We sat there, mostly taking in the scene: a foreign tongue with loud gypsy music blasting from the tractor parked nearby. Then came one of the working-girls. She was the first one I've seen who didn't look much older than she actually was. In fact, I can only guess, but she looks younger than she probably is. She was wearing a shirt that left her breasts almost out in the open, a pair of risque underwear and high heels. Her hair was done up, and so was her make-up. In fact, the deliberateness with which she presented herself was probably most shocking to me only after I remembered how reserved and unpretentiously the older working-girls dressed in Tucson.

She came over and played with the Bosnians--first touching them seductively, then bending over in front of them. Then she offered one of them a 'date' for $300, to which they laughed her off. The whole scene had an element of a 'party.' When I think of the girls who have been out there for only a couple of more years, and I think of how quickly a body is taxed by both the continuous intercourse and its subsequent effects on their minds, as well as the drug abuse, I can't help but wonder if this atmosphere of a party changes gradually into the drudgery of a job, or if there is a singular moment where a girl just decides that she's not playing around with the guys anymore. I suppose I wonder how this girl so scantily dressed (in weather that I had to wear two sweaters and a jacked to withstand comfortably) turns into a woman hustling the lot in a full-length trench-coat without much a thought other than where the next hit is coming from.

Peace and Love,
Dan