Pick pick pick pick. That's all I do isn't it? Why have I got to do this every morning? Why? Why why why why should I do something again and again? I know why, but I can't stop. The word echoes in my head; bouncing around along with all the others words like doubt and-and confusion. Why? Because I'm never sure. Am I right? Or am I wrong? Maybe I'm almost there, maybe I've barely scratched the surface. "The thoughts in my head are going wild again, they're started; begun to run, and for how long?"
My room, perfectly symmetrical, but not really. I have to tell myself that even though I don't believe it. How could I not believe myself? Could I lie to me? "I look at my desk, every little object arranged in their correct positions. (except the one button there that I am now correcting) No, what I thought to be a correction was later revealed as a mistake; an error of which I am to be ridiculed for by myself, or the people who come to visit; if they come to visit. I spend the rest of my day arranging everything, the details of which will most certainly bore you; and therefore I will omit and skip to the evening, when I work as a lady of the night."
I stand in the middle of the walkway, my feet equidistant from the lines that separate the tiles. A car rolls up "Hey there pretty thing, need a ride to summplace?" "You-you can be straight with me now, we both know what you're in for." He beckons with his right hand, and I oblige, stepping into the car. He's turning left at Turner Street, heading into that alley. I hope he finds me attractive, or rather, suitable for his tastes which can't be THAT exquisite considering how and where he picks up girls from the sidewalk of the streets.
"Alright, get workin on it." He unzips his pants; no smell. That is definitely a good start, I'm guessing he washed straight before coming to me. I push it into my mouth, working the tip, covering the sides evenly with my tongue. He starts to moan; he's either in pain or he's enjoying it. I hope it's the latter. He begins tugging at my shirt, he wants me to take it off. Again, I oblige and unbutton, all the whilst avoiding eye-contact. My eyes could be too wide open, or too close and he would find it...me disgusting and throw me out, moving on to the next one he finds. My top falls off, I immediately pick it up and start folding. He's looking at me funny, as if he had found something odd in his soup and the waiter picked it out and denied him a refund. I don't like the way he's staring at me. "You wanna get on with it, girl? Put your clothes aside, that can wait." "But don't you understand? Don't you see? I can't put it aside, it has to be folded. I've probably made another crease putting down and I have to fold it again. I have to fold it again. Can't you see?" His intense stare turned into a confused look. The waiter finally agrees to give him another bowl of soup. He looks down at it, sees something funny again. "You're not playing with me, are you?" Evidently, I had irked him. He didn't sound angry. "No, I'm not playing with you, but I probably should. That's what you're paying me for, isn't it?" I put my clothes as gently as I could onto my lap. I leaned over, and continued. "How deep can you take it?" He asked. I didn't need to see the twinkle in his eyes; the hope that I would do it. I didn't get to respond. He took matters into his own, gammy hands. Sweaty palm gently rested on the back of my head, he pushed me down. I got up immediately, but not to gag. "See what you've done now? You've ruined my hair." I picked a curly hair from my mouth and threw it away. "I-I'm sorry." He blurts out, sounding oh so sincere! A mere apology isn't going to fix it? The wind messes up my hair, but I don't expect an apology from it. But this...this is different. I stormed out of the car"You can keep it." He put his hands out the window, baffled. "Take the money, at least." *This was the most sincere he had been, felt like he actually cared. But he probably drove off to the next town, eyes peeled for another long haired lady that would compare to mine. But he won't find it. He won't find hair as well done as mine.