Dating The Poor

– What are you trying to find here, she asked. I mean: how did you end up in Bucharest?

– Nothing much, I replied to her first question. (She looked great – in a mysterious way. Better than on the pictures.) Guess I am a bohemian. If I like it here I will stay. (Until I have to go.) To answer your second question: life is all about people. (I have friends here.)

– There’s something you need to know, she said. I’m an escort girl.

(Her out of the blue confession put a smile on my face.)

– Interesting. At least you don’t work in a bank. So basicly you are using Tinder as a marketing tool. How nice.

– Sometimes, yes.

– Fascinating. Almost wondrous. Anyways, I don’t judge. People judge me.

(48 seconds of silence while I looked into her eyes.)

– So, I said, (Much against my own advice. An unwritten rule says that whoever talks first, loses.) The question is whether you are working today or having some time off?

– That depends entirely on you.

(Sweet red smile.)

– Just out of curiosity… (Let’s throw in a buying question.) What are your prices? (Let’s get her going.)

– Starting from 100 euro. Depends on the service.

– Maybe I am poor, I said.

– Maybe you are, she replied.

– Let’s get some food. I am starving.

She paid the bill and I took the change because the service sucked.

– Are you fucking kidding me?

(I lit a cigarette.)

– Let’s go, I said. By the way, there is something you should know : I am some kind of weirdo who’s into art. After dinner we go to my place and get some work done. Don’t worry: I want you with your clothes on. For the pictures that is.

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