Peach or Pink
A clean mattress. A whole night's sleep. A body that is your own. A smile that is true. Seemingly petty? Indeed. But not for those women-those that we avert our gazes from; those women that wake every night when the world sleeps, dabbing hurridely, cheap makeup for one stranger. Or sometimes they say, more than one. In an era where brothels still exist, little girls and women have tales to tell. Not happy ones. Here is one small sketch. Mellow lights. Enter young girl with a candle, humming as she moves. Walks to the center, places candle atop desk. Picks up the mirror and two lipsticks. As she starts applying, she looks doubtfully into the mirror and turns to the audience. Peach or pink. (looks between the lipsticks) What is it that you prefer? Not that I care. But that you do. (Walks forward, leans in conspicuously) Come young man, the candles burn bright. The night beckons with its secrets. Quick! tell me now, Peach or Pink, What is it that you pre