She is an old prostitute. Well, she used to be a prostitute until her beauty and sex appeal began to fade; but her memories have not. And, as she sits in the window, watching- for no one stops anymore- she thinks back on the many, long forgotten, blurred faces...and places, where she plied her trade, opening wide her bruised and beaten soul to anyone for the price that would keep her tortured mind euphoric and bring her body one step closer to ruination.

She is an old prostitute. Love has eluded her and romance, forsaken her...yet, there was someone, a very, long time ago. When she was fresh and young, and innocence was not something you pleaded to in a court, when dreams were a possibility. He was darkly handsome, his mustached face always brooding... sensitive he was, but oh, so sexy. She'd eye his sensuous, masculine thighs; his perfect plump ass and on fire with desire she gladly yielded to him her prize. But as much as she desired him, others did too, and he could not resist the lure. It was all too much and all too many, so she found herself one day ...without him.

She is an old prostitute. Garish red lips try and hide her empty mouth; painted cheeks over wrinkled skin, dull eyes hidden behind layers of darkness, she waits for no one. Only craving for more pain numbing highs to temper the lows that plague her every waking moment. There was a child, a baby boy. But he has disappeared into the long gone past, given away so that he might have life. Yet, she wonders what, and she wonders where, and if, if only...She is an old prostitute. Her days are winding down. Thankfully.