She’d thought about buying a dress. My whore dress! she’d thought. She’d considered ninety lipsticks. My hooker lips! she’d thought. Finally she just tucked the cash into her purse and took herself to lunch. Thirty dollars brought her to the best bistro in the area, where she had a hamburger and a glass of wine. The juice dripped down, red-brown, and left a stain on her wrist.

“Ah, fuck you,” she said to the homeless man on the street who asked for change. “You really think I can spare any of the NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS that I made by SELLING MY BODY?”

The man shook his head to the ground. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I never would have guessed.”

“And don’t you GOD BLESS ME,” she yelled at the man, from down the block.

“I will not,” he called back. “I have no interest in blessing you at all.”

—From the absolute best story I’ve ever read about prostitution, “The Red Ribbon,” by Aimee Bender. You can buy it here.