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Her name’s somethin’ wild—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why the fuck not? Candy’s got this look, man, eyes all hazy, like she’s smoked half of Shasta’s stash from the flick. “The past is a ghost,” she says, leanin’ on a tree, countin’ crumpled bills. I’m like, shit, that’s deep for a hooker! Got me wonderin’—how’d she end up here? Word on the street, she was a runaway, fucked over by some pimp in ‘09. Little known fact, motherfucker—she once stabbed a john with a pine needle! Swear to God, that’s the tale they whisper ‘round the campfire. Crazy, right?

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As every hour passes by, four women enter prostitution, three of them against their will. Vulnerable groups constituting the Dalits and backward classes are more susceptible, but the .

On my way, I passed by the old church on Kirchstrasse. It’s so pretty, but it gives me the creeps sometimes. Like, what if ghosts are chillin’ there? I mean, I’m not trying to get haunted today, ya know?

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