Sometimes it is not the city lights that blind you, even though one or two are usually out, leaving dangerous corners open for trafficking of sin. The darker the night is the more entrancing it becomes. Sometimes I lay in bed with nothing but car alarms and busting class to sing me a lullaby to peacefully fall asleep to so I can contemplate how I am to die tomorrow. A white girl living in a black world, but I never did anything to them. I guess its paranoia you know, when someone you do not trust gives you the look, and you glance away to not provoke them. People have no trust in the world, but if you trust in it enough you might just get gypped.

I had nothing but a ground full of needles to play on, full of heroin and whatever prescription drug was on the market. My only education was the school of hard knocks they say, but I am much smarter then them, so they smirked at me as I walked on by the swings of a new game I was left behind again. It was not like I was trying to be better, putting my brain to work in a world full of brawn, when they can get jobs in manual labor, and I am too weak to stand up sometimes. Therefore, I lay in bed and I watch the outside hellish world go by, and bye it goes and I wish it well.

I dress like I am ready to be raped, but any pleasure that would make me feel alive is welcome. I would not turn down pain if it would make me scream, if it would make me stop these cigarettes I am smoking and the life I am whoring to whatever Joe or Jane who has enough money to pay my rent. Oh what it would feel to be alive.

So were the thoughts of me before I decided to wish freedom upon myself. And maybe I might get what I wish for once. Just once please? Because if not then I know that the world has left me jaded.

Down, down the town I rode on a fifty-cent fare that got me half way to where I needed to go. I got my last check from my master, that devil Bob who owns my body, but he will never own my soul. Five hundred dollars can get me out of here, but it is this damned town that will never let me go. I got off the stop and started walking with my suitcase, not filled with dreams, but with clothes I do not want to wear and makeup I do not want to paint with. My canvas needs to be cleared but never to a convent I would go. My art is within the city nights.

My friend Jacob owns a café for hippie poets and beatnik rejects that the modern style left behind once again. I would fit in swell.

He told me he loved me on summer nights, but in my profession love is nothing but fifteen seconds of wonderful warm sensations bought with money that should go to his son's college education. Yet I am multiorgasmic so it lasts about sixty. Still after awhile one does not feel a thing. Another aspect of life left me jaded.

That is why love is nothing but Jacob and me moving in together and helping him run the place as well as exhibiting my talents that do not involve my body but my mind. On stage I feel like I am flying against everything I have been taught and then oh how I love to be alive.

I made it to Jacob's café and he greeted me with a kiss on each cheek, just before he opened for the afternoon. He insisted on carrying my suitcase upstairs to our room. He sat it on our bed. Sharing a bed with a man was nothing new to me but the concept of it being "ours" impedes my freedom. But this was my freedom. A new name legally changed once again, a free place to live until I stop working for him, and a life built off of elegant words instead of crude flirtation with death.

The apartment upstairs was small, but we could manage. Two rooms created my new address. There was a living room and a kitchen built into one, and a bedroom and a bathroom combined as well. He grabbed me by my curvaceous waist and held me close.

"Melissa, this is our home now. Be happy, this is where you belong."

He moved one hand up my shirt in the front and started kissing my neck.

I held his other hand and allowed him to do what he willed.

I stared out his window into the city. Maybe his wife will forgive us. Maybe his son would forgive us. But what did his wife do? How would she support herself and her son on a public school teacher's salary? Boys are always in want for fire engines and racecars. Boys were always in need of new pants, which got ripped playing in the sand. Now they are the ones jaded, as my life got better.

He wanted more as his hand moved over my chest and I was left to satisfy him. What was a whore to do? Fake it like I always faked it since the best sex is always free.

Later when I was sprawled in bed stroking his shoulder while he was asleep, I got the idea to make things right. I found his address book in his bedside drawer. 1236 New Haven Road right outside the city. I grabbed my purse and I started walking.

I dressed in old jeans and a t-shirt where I looked honorable. Bob would not recognize me. I continued walking until I got to a bus stop going my way. I got on and rode to where I needed to be, to where I wanted to be.

I came upon the house and I kept my head down low. The screen door was open and there was a little boy playing inside. He soon saw me as I was coming up the stairs on the porch.

"Mommy! There is some lady at the door." He said as he went inside to get his mother.

She looked at me and I at her. She was about eight months pregnant, and looked more tired then me on a bad day. She had been crying, and asked me what I was doing.

"Excuse me can I help you?"

"Yes, are you Mrs. Williams?"

"Yes I am. May I ask why?"

I paused and my plans changed.

"I used to live in this house when I was young, and I wanted to see how the house looked. I understand this might not be a good time as you have been crying."

She sniffled and did not answer.

"How far are you along?"

"Eight months."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, she's healthy."

"It's a girl then."

"Yes," She stroked her tummy. "It's a girl"

"Then take this," I opened up my purse and took out the five hundred dollars in cash.

"I cannot do that, I don't even know you? Why are you doing this?"

"Your husband is gone, and you have a baby girl. Those who live in this house end up jaded, so sell it and maybe your daughter will not end up being me."

"And who are you?"

"I cannot answer that."

I turned around and walked back to the bus stop.

All those without gems get jaded.