At The House of the Convalescent Muses
We take our meals in the greenhouse at the long bench. Tonight marks the end of a lot of work and we are very happy to have a ceiling of stars. The high curved windows are tinted with a twinge of blue and all stars light filtering down twinkle a precious indigo. High and bright lights accompany the food, which has come with beer, and is greasy. We must be growing firmer if the fare is like this.
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.