My First Visit To A Whorehouse Didn't Go So Well (from the album “Disjointed”)

Some years ago, I became good friends
with a gang member named José
It's a very long story but we just clicked

One night, the two of us were out cruising around Queens
He drove like a maniac, I frequently had to close my eyes
As he swerved between cars
Doing 95 on the BQE
Drunk and passing people on the shoulder

He pulled us up to a curb and sat there idling for a few minutes
Eventually a man approached the passenger side of the car, reached in
And gave me a business card for no apparent reason
I looked at it, and handed it over
It was a business card for a florist
José handed it back to me and told me to read the address
He couldn't read

It was, of course, not a flower shop
It was a brothel
We went through makeshift metal detectors
Were patted down, and allowed to enter
We were in a room where a dozen or so scantily clad women
Were sitting on plastic chairs, looking bored

Some were old, and some were very old
Some were young, and some were very young
Much too young

José quickly picked one out and took her to a back room
I wasn't sure exactly what to do
So I took a seat next to a woman a few years younger than me
And asked in Spanish what her name was
She just stared at me
There were no names here

We chatted for maybe 15 minutes
José came out from one of the back rooms
A few ounces lighter
But I was still talking to this young girl
She had a young daughter in Colombia
And that's why she was here

I asked her how much this place charged for sex
She told me 25 dollars
I asked how much she got to keep
She smiled sadly and didn't answer
I asked if I could pay her for our conversation
She said yes
And I gave her everything I had on me

I don't remember the rest of the night
But I know I eventually made it home
And I got into bed and cried