11:11 - 2005-11-01
platform
His stable was spread across the platform and rife with discontent. One girl was petulant, ignoring his hard stare; another was indignant, her voice turning shrill when he turned his back to her arguments and disappeared up the platform steps. "That is some bullshit and you know it!"
"Put your earrings and shoes back on, you can't fight no man", one of the other hookers told her as she struggled to remove a spike-heeled boot.
"I ain't gonna fight him, I'm just gonna tell Layeesha 'What the fuck is she doing talking some shit about some shit that don't even concern her'...I mean...", inarticulate with frustration, she slumped back on the steps; legs splayed unladylike, an unzipped boot lodged around one calf.
"Gimme that sweater back, I'm taking the next train up to my grandmother's."
"You're gonna go up to your grandmothers dressed like that?"
Her dress was blue, and like all of their dresses, several sizes too small, "No, I'm gonna put my sweater on over this, so let me have it back."
"You're trippin'."
They became silent as he descended the steps with another girl; Layeesha, no doubt. The shit-talker. One-shoe looked like she wanted to cry. And also shiv somebody.
"Coreene, come on...get down here!"
The train was pulling in and all four girls on the platform (one-shoe deciding, for now, against going to grandma's) moved to board.
"Coreene, get off the damn phone. Your ass is gonna get left if you don't get down here!"
This particular pimp, I'd noticed, ran 'em on the meaty side. One-shoe, the little white girl of the crew, had a good 30 lbs on me and the menu proceeded in 20 lb. increments from there; each item incrementally less contained by its flimsy wrapper. This progression culminated with Coreene, who was making her way down the stairs, heels in hand.
"Coreene c'mon! Hurry it up, girl!" the ladies were yelling while the pimp held the train door.
It's gotta be hard, y'know? Finding a nice, sheer, high-cut, cocktail dress for a 300+ lb. hooker. Hence the design flaw in the one Coreen had settled on. The little skirt part, which would have barely covered the rump of a skinny (250 lb) girl, sat completely atop hers; a forlorn and useless flaglet. Think Adam Greenspan's comb-over. On the Elephant Man. The guys who'd been eyeing the other hookers with a lascivious mixture of fascination and contempt turned away now in horror; forced to reconsider the object of their collective desire in the light of its monstrous potential...this was some HP Lovecraft shit, for real.
I turned too; hoping against hope that there was a pair of underwear up in there somewhere. Anyway, she made the train.
It ain't easy, is it? Platform pimpin'...
