‘That crazy guy was here again yesterday; the sex he wants is becoming extremer and he wants to pay less and less. I don’t want to do it, but I need the money. I have pain in my stomach and feel terrible. My back hurts, due to the high heels. It’s something people do not see. I laugh and pretend to enjoy myself, otherwise I will lose all my clients. But I am dying inside. Surely there must be a better life than this?’


‘Rowdy tourists pass my window; groups of men bang on the window and yell at me. They call me a ‘whore’ and ‘slut’, and say I am dumb. I sometimes think they are right; perhaps this is the only thing I can do. But surely this is not what I used to dream about? I wanted a better life, and I still do.’


‘Mario visited again and was still demanding money. Protection money he calls it; ridiculous, I don’t even need protection. But he has strong hands and pressed me against the wall. He shouts; makes me afraid. I decided to give him 100 euros to get rid of him. I want to get away from here; I want something else. I cannot bear men touching me; I can no longer bear this place.’