“You owe me - that was rubbish,” snapped Delilah, emerging from the club bathroom, trails of mascara slithering down her cheeks and dripping off her chin, staining her crimson dress which had dropped down her slim figure. The man behind her chuckled gruffly as he buttoned up his jeans, then sunk his hand into his pocket and produced a thick, stiff wad of green dollars.

“You weren’t that bad. You couldn’t get your clothes off fast enough,” he remarked as he slowly offered her the wad, which she swiftly snatched from his fingers in one fleet movement.

“It’s my job, moron! Where do you think I get all this dosh from?” her voice trailed off as she counted the notes, flicking each feeble paper between her polished fingernails, muttering actively to herself as her brow knitted together. “Hmm... $200. Not bad. I’m worth a lot more, though - I’ve gotten $500 before.”

“Well, if you hadn’t been such a bitch, maybe I’d give you more,” he snapped, and shoved her out of his path before making his way out of the bathroom and into the pounding heart of the nightclub. Delilah sighed, exasperated, and shoved the notes into her skirt pocket before leaning against the cold bathroom wall, the feeling of the cool tiles against her forehead relaxing. The club bathroom was almost empty, just a few partiers scattered round, most of them couples making out aggressively in the cubicles or against the shower walls; several loud moaning noises poured from the cubicle nearest to Delilah, and she grimaced before scurrying away.

Inside the club, columns of dry ice swirled round the dancing partiers, but the disco lights easily penetrated the fog, transforming the room into a land of crimson and lemon yellow and lime green and hot magenta. Rap music poured from the speakers at maximum volume, and the teenagers swung their leather-clad hips to the beat of the song, whilst others either snorted white powder or made out madly. Delilah weaved through the crowd, her brunette curls flying back in the gentle breeze, searching desperately for her friend whom she only ever felt decent with. Finally, after a long and thorough search, she discovered her friend in the far corner of the club, groaning with her legs wrapped round a burly guy’s waist.

“Nasia! Make him pay you then get off him!” snapped Delilah, practically dragging her friend from her customer. The two girls then raced back to the bar, counting the money they’d made. “Oi, bitch!” the brunette remarking, snapping her fingers at the young redhead behind the bar. “Vodka shots. Large. Eight of them!” The redhead’s eyebrows raised, but she filled two slender shot glasses with transparent liquid and handed them to the two prostitutes, who necked them down then squirmed at the burn of the alcohol.


Shan's eyes screwed up in concentration as she shoved the blunt needle through the tough fabric, threading the feeble cotten through the material, connecting the fragments with swift movements of her wrist. The squares of baby pink wool slowly sewed together to create a rough, thick rectangle.

Her severe concentration suddenly broke at the sound of the door slamming shut and shrill, high-pitched drunken giggling; two slim shadows slipped through the gloomy, wallpaper-lined corridor to the spacious living room, pale moonlight streaming through the dust-caked blinds, bathing the furniture in milky white lustre. The television blared,  vibrant colours dancing on the screen and music pouring from the expensive speakers sitting on oak shelving. A stripe of glass swam through the walls, all the way round the room.

Her two flatmates, hysterically laughing with their dresses almost falling from their figures and their makeup smudged, stumbled into the room with terrible coordination - lime green notes tumbled from the shallow pockets of their mini-skirts, and the stench of alcohol lingered in the aura.

"Oh, hey, Shan!" muttered Delilah through muffled chuckles. "Still working on that blanket for the baby?"

"Yep," replied Shan, shoving the pile of fabric off her lap and replacing her needle with a fresh, cuspate one. It wasn't Shan's baby, of course - the young girl had been celibate all her life - it was her cousin's. "You still shagging guys for a couple of wads?"

"Yep, and loving every minute of it!" Nasia snickered, yanking down her skirt and replacing it with a pair of comfy loafer jeans. "There was this guy who payed me, like, $600. He was right fit, huge abs, and he was very big, if you get what I mean," a saucy wink adorned her twinkling blue eyes. "Two hours after and I was still panting. God, I am so meeting him again."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Nasia, we don't want to know about how big some guy's dick was!" snapped Shan, suddenly tossing the needle at the prostitute that merely dodged in time. "I still don't know how you two sluts can do that - go round shagging guys for money. Why did I agree to share a flat with you whores?"

"Oh, you pissed off, now?" hissed Delilah with venom in her tone. "I still can't believe you're a virgin. You need to get our job!"

"Sex and money - can't think of anything better!" Nasia agreed, clumsily pouring herself a tall glass of pink lemonade which found the kitchen counter before the container mostly.