Walker / Don’t Walker

I usually only get approached by hookers when I’m in the vicinity of fancy midtown hotels, where well-dressed young women will smile as if you’re an old friend and say brightly, “Hey, you havin’ a good night?” Maybe they think I look like an expense account-toting bidnizman, but I usually say flatly, “I live here” and they go on their way.

Last night I was waiting to cross the street near Times Square, when two very young girls sidled up to me. One of them said, “Wassup, you lookin’ for a date?” I shook my head and turned my attention back to the traffic signal. She tried again. “You wanna party with us?” Without looking at them, I said forcefully, “NO!” Not liking my ‘tude, she barked, “Damn. Why you gotta be that?” I said, “Well, for starters, you’re underage and you’re female.” The second one pulled her friend away and said, “Ooh, she just mad cuz she too old for Splash.”

Damn. Why they gotta be like that?
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