When I was living in Nova Scotia
, specifically Halifax
, the prostitutes actually congregated outside the door to my office building
. This was not out of any interest in repeat business
, mind you, but simply due to the fact that our office had a pink
door and was quite recognizable.
They were very obvious prostitutes
: scantily clad and offering some rather lewd
things to me as I headed in to work some nights. Of course, they generally scattered once they noticed that I had keys to the building
which they'd made their signpost
, it's entirely different: My first evening in the city, I was jet lagged
and awake at four in the morning in desperate need of food. I set off down the road, largely unpopulated
"You're looking down, love." I hear, from the side. I turn, squinting, as the road is dimly lit, and manage to discern a middle-aged woman in a brown dress.
?" I say.
"You're looking down." she repeated. Ah, I thought -- the famous English hospitality.
"I've just flown in
." I offered, "So I'm a bit tired is all."
"Need some comfort
?" she asks, just as my furiously working brain
realises that it's never heard the term "English Hospitality" before.
"Oh, you're a hooker
!" I exclaim, exultant
in having deciphered the riddle
, and completely unaware of what I was saying.
She looked sort of downcast
, so I felt a need to make amends
, "I'm sorry, I just didn't realise until just now, I thought you were just, you know, talking to me."
"That's alright love
", she says, "just stop by if you need me."
I promised to do so and continued on my way.
prostitutes. They seem nice enough