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Gina was an early bird. She was class. She got out of bed well before the competition, rested and ready, and she always showered before going out to work no matter how many hundreds of dollars it took to satisfy the Clean-O-Mat across the road. The rented coffins at Easy Hotel didn’t come with showers, but Gina didn’t mind. The Clean-O-Mat was cheaper.

The synthleather purse under her arm contained all her essentials. Lip gloss, make-up, stockings. Next to the make-up case was her trusty old anti-creep device, the Mk5 military taser, bought years ago at an army surplus auction. She never regretted the purchase. It had saved her life more than once out on the Street.

She always wore a cheap business suit to work, a form-fitting little number with a skirt so short it could only be studied under a microscope. It made her look like a slutty news anchor. The customers always liked that, the perfect mix of good girl and bad girl.

The only thing to break Gina’s illusion of respectability were her leather combat boots. People of her occupation couldn’t afford fancy shoes, at least not ones that fit. She’d seen other girls walking the Street in hooker heels and pink rubber skirts, Frankenstein’s monsters of plastic surgery, like drowned corpses under the neon light. But not Gina.

No, Gina was all natural, all class. She smiled a lot, a pretty smile with nice teeth. The customers liked that too. And they liked boots better than heels. They added a little spice to her image, caught the eye of more potential customers. Men, of course. It was the look that drew them and Gina looked the best. Women were a little different, passed her by as often as not, depending on what did it for them. They could always find men in the same line of work as Gina, or girls who affected a more innocent image as their ‘hook’, some even pretending to be first-timers -- but Gina was more respectable than that. Than any of them.

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