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Lysa, though—she’s got stories. Told me once bout a john who cried after, blubberin’ like a babe. “I killed him,” he sobbed, meanin’ his pride, I reckon. She just patted his head, took his gold, moved on. “That’s power,” I thought, sippin’ my ale. She’s small, but she’s mighty—reminds me of me, outsmartin’ taller twats. “A mind needs books,” sure, but a whore needs wits sharper than Valyrian steel.

Young Foreign Girls in Delhi's Biggest Red Light District

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But then, I saw this kid flyin’ a kite. It was so colorful, and he was grinnin’ ear to ear. I felt a wave of happiness wash over me. Like, this is what life’s about, right? Simple joys. I wanted to join him, but I’m not tryna embarrass myself. I can barely keep a kite in the air!

The dark history of slavery and racism in Indonesia during the Dutch colonial period