The Florence Nightingale Effect
I'm hobbling about the city. Cane to the ground every other step. But, I think I walked a bit too much today due to the drive to consolidate all my last few paychecks.
You know when your injured, it's never the best time. It's always the worst. No food in the place, not even coffee. A huge pile of laundry that I can't carry now.
But, their are small silver linings. The Show that I was supposed to be crew on has a vicious cold going around the theatre. ( The guys called me to say they'd looked at voting a Shop Steward and told me of the illness - I hate colds - I take Eccinecia religiously when I'm stuck in any drafty theatre for more than a week or two. ) So, I'm taking the stuff anyway. Because the last thing I want is a cold and this injury.
People are nice to me. Opening doors. Apologizing when they even remotely get in my way. letting me go ahead of them at the bank. I'm not used to this. The best things are. Spare Change artists don't ask me for money. And the really hot Hookers ask me all the time now if I want a date.
I'm not sure if that last one is a good thing...
I just think I'm enjoying the attention of higher caliber street walkers - They're yelling from cars, and across the street. Asking if I'm looking for a good time. As I live smack in the middle of Vancouver's entertainment district. Some of the hookers in my neighborhood are truly one step below high class escorts. Not that I'd partake. I'm more liable to, if I got drunk ( if I wasn't taking Anti- inflammatory medicine ) and try to reason with them to stop their private entertainment contracting.
Of course it's the start of summer. And the new season of street walking girls are out. All geared up in brand new hooker get ups. Which wouldn't be out of place at SinCity. I might just go on Saturday. Pretend I have a cane fetish. And look for girls who are fans of David Cronenburgs "Crash" .
It's sad.. those pretty girls.... That lifestyle, the drugs and men really beat the beauty right out of them by the fall. I often see their progress. They show up around in winter and spring as little Emo gamine's. Wearing the usual street kid uniform. battered dirty hoodies, Old combat pants. Hauling around backpacks with band badges pinned to the sides. With a skinny, sad looking punker BF at the side. ( Mangy Dog with stinky Kerchief around the neck - Optional )
Those young girls are a very few panhandlers I give money too. Because I've lived here in the center of the Ent. District for about 16 years. And I know where this road leads. Always, right about now I see a few fresh, impossibly tall street walkers. Teetering a bit on their new Patented Leather fuck me boots. And the super doll painted faces on the young girls. Who don't want to look me in the eye seem sort of familiar. It's really sad, the worse part is the down side of choices like that.... I've seen the spiral.... Even my little sister was pretty on the outside once. Before the drinking, drugs and bad Boy Boyfriend fights took that away.
I guess right now, I must look like a guy who wants a date. Or maybe my noticeable injury means I'd be an easy mark. ( " He won't be mean to me, or try to get something for nothing.. cause he is an injured male" ) Who knows. That "Pretty Woman" archetype of the Hooker with a heart of gold. Probably seduces the girl in some strange way. Just as well as the fervent fantasizes of the guy who wants to save them.
When It comes to meeting women when I'm injured. I kind of show two sides. That part of me that wants to be looked after... nursed to health, comes back. Like any little boy with an Owiee. I want that mother love. But, I'm also like a cat... a bit embarrassed or ashamed that I was caught landing not on my feet.
I'm hobbling about the city. Cane to the ground every other step. But, I think I walked a bit too much today due to the drive to consolidate all my last few paychecks.
You know when your injured, it's never the best time. It's always the worst. No food in the place, not even coffee. A huge pile of laundry that I can't carry now.
But, their are small silver linings. The Show that I was supposed to be crew on has a vicious cold going around the theatre. ( The guys called me to say they'd looked at voting a Shop Steward and told me of the illness - I hate colds - I take Eccinecia religiously when I'm stuck in any drafty theatre for more than a week or two. ) So, I'm taking the stuff anyway. Because the last thing I want is a cold and this injury.
People are nice to me. Opening doors. Apologizing when they even remotely get in my way. letting me go ahead of them at the bank. I'm not used to this. The best things are. Spare Change artists don't ask me for money. And the really hot Hookers ask me all the time now if I want a date.
I'm not sure if that last one is a good thing...
I just think I'm enjoying the attention of higher caliber street walkers - They're yelling from cars, and across the street. Asking if I'm looking for a good time. As I live smack in the middle of Vancouver's entertainment district. Some of the hookers in my neighborhood are truly one step below high class escorts. Not that I'd partake. I'm more liable to, if I got drunk ( if I wasn't taking Anti- inflammatory medicine ) and try to reason with them to stop their private entertainment contracting.
Of course it's the start of summer. And the new season of street walking girls are out. All geared up in brand new hooker get ups. Which wouldn't be out of place at SinCity. I might just go on Saturday. Pretend I have a cane fetish. And look for girls who are fans of David Cronenburgs "Crash" .
It's sad.. those pretty girls.... That lifestyle, the drugs and men really beat the beauty right out of them by the fall. I often see their progress. They show up around in winter and spring as little Emo gamine's. Wearing the usual street kid uniform. battered dirty hoodies, Old combat pants. Hauling around backpacks with band badges pinned to the sides. With a skinny, sad looking punker BF at the side. ( Mangy Dog with stinky Kerchief around the neck - Optional )
Those young girls are a very few panhandlers I give money too. Because I've lived here in the center of the Ent. District for about 16 years. And I know where this road leads. Always, right about now I see a few fresh, impossibly tall street walkers. Teetering a bit on their new Patented Leather fuck me boots. And the super doll painted faces on the young girls. Who don't want to look me in the eye seem sort of familiar. It's really sad, the worse part is the down side of choices like that.... I've seen the spiral.... Even my little sister was pretty on the outside once. Before the drinking, drugs and bad Boy Boyfriend fights took that away.
I guess right now, I must look like a guy who wants a date. Or maybe my noticeable injury means I'd be an easy mark. ( " He won't be mean to me, or try to get something for nothing.. cause he is an injured male" ) Who knows. That "Pretty Woman" archetype of the Hooker with a heart of gold. Probably seduces the girl in some strange way. Just as well as the fervent fantasizes of the guy who wants to save them.
When It comes to meeting women when I'm injured. I kind of show two sides. That part of me that wants to be looked after... nursed to health, comes back. Like any little boy with an Owiee. I want that mother love. But, I'm also like a cat... a bit embarrassed or ashamed that I was caught landing not on my feet.
Besides, Julia Roberts' teeth scare me.