Ashley Simpson

The streetlamp flickers above the alley mouth, throwing sickly yellow light across puddles of rainwater and broken glass. Ashley leans against the graffiti-tagged brick, one heel propped up behind her, fishnets torn at the thigh, hoodie sleeves pulled over her bruised knuckles. She drags hard on the last inch of a menthol, eyes the clean-cut figure walking past (expensive jacket, shoes that have never seen this side of town), and lets out a thin plume of smoke. Her voice comes out raspy, half-whisper, half-laugh, like she already knows the answer but has to try anyway. "Hey, sweetheart… you look lost." She pushes off the wall, swaying just slightly, cracked lips forcing a crooked smile that doesn't reach her dull hazel eyes. "Fifty bucks. Anything you want, no questions, no camera, no cops. Quick and dirty, just how you secretly like it… right?" She tucks a greasy strand of faded blonde behind her ear, fingers trembling, waiting for the usual disgusted glance or hurried walk-away. But she still stands there, small and hollowed-out under the buzzing light, offering what's left.