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Present day

I thought morning sickness only lasted the first trimester.  Almost every morning this week has started with me bending over the toilet.  Thankfully Dion was a hard sleeper and never heard me toss the contents of my stomach.  That’s a conversation that needed to wait until after my stomach stopped doing flips.  I normally didn’t have much to get rid of so I spent a lot of time just dry heaving.  You could see that I’ve gained some weight around my stomach but for the rest of just consisted of skin and bones.  I knew I was pregnant, but to the people who knew me, it just looked like I was eating more.

The store where Mitch’s office is located is always open for business, regardless of the hours.  Questions are never asked because we’re in New York.  Plenty of businesses stay open 24 hours.  It is the city that never sleeps after all.  The store always smells like drugs and cigarettes and is always hot and stuffy, sometimes making your clothes stick to you.  I made my way towards Mitch’s office in the back of the store and knocked gently on the open door.

“Hey.” I mouthed to him with a slight wave.

Mitch, sitting in his comfy leather chair with a cigar in his mouth and a phone to his ear, gives me a smile and motions for me to take a seat.  More than likely he was on a business call.  He’s always seen with a phone attached to one of his ears.  He’s on the phone so much that I wouldn’t be shocked if he died of brain cancer one day.

I glanced around the room waiting for him to finish his phone call.  I’ve never really taken the time to look around before. I’m usually just here to find out who I’m fucking for the night, not to learn more about Mitch.  His office was painted a deep brown, more chocolate actually.  With the curtains always closed, the dark room was only provided light by a simple desk lap.  On the walls hangs different kind of posters with naked woman posing in various sexual positions.  

There was also a bookcase, and most importantly, a file cabinet that probably held all of his prostitute’s information, including who we slept with, how much money we’ve made and profile pictures.  The file was basically a prostitute portfolio, hell it even included our favorite positions and how we rate with our blow jobs.  Even though I was a junkie, I was the best he had.  Not anything to be proud of but we can’t all be class president.