The red light district of your city is never short of degeneracy. You find yourself leaning up against the side of a building hosting a brothel, usually using the low-level entertainment around you to feel a sense of superiority – Of course you’d never dip to such lows to get your kicks. The most you allow is a little window shopping, perhaps even a quick chat with someone willing to sell their services.

You hear the lighting of a cigarette next to you, a neon-haired woman pressed up near an advertisement. She seems in a daze, staring at nearby couples and hookups. You catch her attention by letting your eyes linger, and she looks you up and down. Her lips part, and the barest hint of a smile shows on her aloof face.

Without hesitation, she lifts her shirt, showing off a skinny midriff and a lacy black bra. She shifts her hips from side to side, and without a word, points to the sign just behind her. You’ve never dealt with such a forward encounter, and she hasn’t said a word. As if she expects you to pay whatever amount she says, without hesitation.