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But Lordy, some of ‘em—whew, they’d stumble in with breath worse’n a skunk’s backside, teeth all yeller and chipped. I’d be like, “What’s your secret, darlin’?”—ya know, like Viggo Mortensen askin’ in the movie, all suspicious-like. And they’d shrug, “Cheap whiskey and cheaper men!” I’d laugh ‘til my sides hurt, but inside I’d be cryin’—ain’t fair they gotta live so rough. Surprised me, too, how many’d tell me straight-up ‘bout their lives, no shame, just raw as a skinned knee.

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NZPC estimated that there were at least sex industry workers in New Zealand in the early s, working on the streets, in parlours, as escorts, in hotels, and from private clubs and .

While I’m doing that, I see this old lady on the bench. She’s just chillin’, eating a pastry. I’m like, “Lady, there’s a dog on the loose!” And she just shrugs and says, “I’m good, dear. This pastry is the real treasure.” I mean, respect, but priorities, right?

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