A Missed Opportunity
Hunting rats and my desire to kill them was the first topic of conversation my wife and I had when we met. She said I should not have been walking the alley behind my apartment with a small bb gun shooting at them because they had a right to be there. She wasn’t wrong. But neither was I. Fuck rats. Kill them all.
Being an escort for me was like being a scrapbooker on Etsy for most other single moms trying to pick up some extra money. The only difference was that I could make a few thousand bucks for one hour of potential discomfort versus making a few hundred for several hours of suffering through handmade clip art. I’m a pretty open-minded person, but I cannot for one second believe that there is any joy in being hunched over a desk, cutting and pasting other people’s memories together. It seems so lonely and juvenile.