TISHIA

"How much?" she questions me after hearing my proposition.

I have seen her standing at a corner a block from Market Square for the last month . In the distance she doesn't look bad. She is slender and shapely.

"What's your name?"

"Tishia."

"Where are you from?"

"Puerto Rico."

"How long have you been in Brownsville?"

"Four months."

She cuts the conversation short.

"How much?" she repeats with a touch of impatience in her voice.

I look at her. Her toothless gums are smoother than the quilt that covers my mother's brass bed.

"Five dollars," I say.

"Fine," she answers.

I pull a $5 bill from my wallet and give it to you. She smiles. She must have been a good looking woman in her prime. I step back and take her picture.

"One more," I supplicate.

She isn't greedy. I thank her for her time. She flashes me that empty grin. She doesn't leave the area but continues to look for employment opportunities.