"Hello?" I called out. "I'm in the bedroom, come on in," came a voice from down the hall. I kicked off my shoes, and walked over to her fridge....Opening it I found a few cans of shitty beer, so I grabbed and opened one before I headed to the whore's room. The room was piled with heaps of dirty laundry and the TV was blaring some insipid day time talk show. In the centre of the room stood my 'date.' She looked worse in person than in her pictures. Dirty, frizzy red-brown hair stuck. "Hello Susan," I said cheerfully. "What are you doing here?" I told you," she replied tersely, "I live here. Those people at the police station wouldn't believe me but they let me go this morning so I walked back here."I wondered why the hell I paid taxes, considering the state of mental health care these days, but I was at loss to know what to do. I asked her in and we had a rerun of yesterday though I decided that calling the police again was a waste of time. We talked while I was cooking tea. More

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