He hated it. He hated his "job", after which the pain in his lower back did not go away for days, as well as painful hickeys on his body. He hated feeling used and dirty, and then spending hours in a hot shower, rubbing his skin into the blood. He hated the feeling of helplessness when another customer decided to tie his hands tightly until they trembled and were numb.

He needed the money. He needed money like hell, he couldn't leave his parents to live on tiny payments from the state. Even if he starves himself. Especially if he himself lives on the outskirts of the city, where the second person he meets may turn out to be a maniac.

January had just come into its own, and it was already cold outside. Alan wrapped himself more tightly in a thin jacket, standing on the threshold of a rich house and waiting for the door to open for him. He blew on his frost-reddened hands, warming them up.

He expected it to hurt again.