Monday, May 19, 2014

Dunwoody Prostitution Enterprise Exposed

A recent satirical piece in the Dunwoody Crier speaks to an ongoing prostitution enterprise in our fair city and to give the devils their due it is an extremely well written bit of satire. When you read between the lines, as one must do with all satire, one finds a lurid tale describing the underbelly of a City that cannot shake a shady cast of characters including a powerful pimp, his harem of whores and a seemingly limitless supply of johns.

The brothel operates from a shady location signified in time honored fashion with the lighting of a red lamp signaling to johns the availability of worldly delights without casting sufficient light for innocent, or even curious passersby to discern the true nature of the transaction.

The whores are caked in excessive makeup and reek of cheap perfume in an effort to cover the traces left by the uses and abuses of johns who have come before. They gather in a parlor resonating with raucous music making themselves available for casual consortation before getting down to the business of the house. The pimp looks on, directing favored johns to the whore most suitable to his tastes.

The whores offer only a feigned resistance that serves as a requisite foreplay, a feeble attempt to disguise a faded and damaged flower as a fresh bud ready to be plucked. Deep down they know the john knows yet they both spare the time for the courtesy of this small but unnecessary formality. The dirty ceilings serve as a constant reminder that this is a filthy business. That johns are never satisfied. Pimps never handle enough money. And that whores are one bump or one bad blood test away from what little they do have.

As is so often the case this story demands much of the reader and is best absorbed on a hot summer's night with a scotch at hand and the soundtrack to Body Heat playing in the background. And on some certain Monday night, if you listen carefully you will hear in the distance the music to which these pitiful souls dance their tragic pas de trois and you'll know just where that red light dimly glows.