Casualty

I was navigating the city streets the other night and crossed paths with a casualty of the game. I just left the homie’s house headed home around 1 in the morning. The streets were deserted for the most part except for a few cars here and there. I was a couple blocks from my house. Before I get to the light I see this young woman walking down the block all by herself. I paid it no mind until I got to the light. Instead of walking in the crosswalk she walks in front of my car to cross to the other side of the street. At that moment I knew she was a woman of the night. A few blocks up from my crib is a hotel known for prostitution among other things. Whoever her pimp was trained her well; I could tell she was seasoned. The game around the way has long progressed from being naked and flagging people down.

They do subtle things to get your attention like what she did walking in traffic to generate attention. To the untrained eye it just looks like a woman walking but to a king the game is plain as day. In a past life I wouldn’t pay it no mind; I would probably get at her and try to f**k for free but as I drove off it bothered me a bit. Maybe it’s because I have a daughter now and would never want her to walk down that path. The digital display said it was 29 degrees out there and all she had on was a light jacket. Deep down I felt sorry for her. I began to wonder what series of events occurred for her to arrive at the point she is at in her life now. But then part of me realized that it was a choice she made; a rather poor one at that.  Perceived love is a muthaf**ka.

She has the perception that the man that gave her game loves her and she is right; just not in the way she thinks he does. He loves her for the money she provides not her as a person. City streets are a wilderness that few survive without losing some part of themselves. Her self esteem and self worth were the first things to go; if the game swallows her sanity is next. She is a casualty of two games; the money game and the street game. I wonder where her pimp found her; the bus station or the woman’s shelter. I have no idea why it bothers me much; it just does. Maybe because it doesn’t bother her at all. 

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