Isadora

Isadora grabbed a bottle of red nail polish from a shop selling cosmetics in Canary Wharf. It was called Boots. She felt a little confused. The shop called Boots was selling make-up, but English, weren’t boots shoes?

She had been running for an hour and still she was late. New York was confusing when you were still learning a new language. Still, with what little knowledge she had, she had run up escalators, pushed pass every Japanese tourist in New York and still she never stopped running and even when her side hurt and she felt she could not any anymore.

She was very late, and she knew in this country it was very, very bad to be late, while in Brazil, as long as she turned up with a cheeky smile, and a promise, any man would wait for her for hours. Some men had been known to wait for her for days. In fact, it would be a very long time before some men gave up waiting and accepted she had left Brazil for a life in New York for good.

Isadora was a little afraid he would get fed up and leave, after all there must be thousands of New York escorts, but she could not bring herself to meet a stranger who expected her to be like a Brazilian dream, like on the cover of a magazine with chipped nails. She was a New York escort now and this was her first meeting and though she did not have enough money yet to dress the way she wished she knew she had to do the best that she could with what she had.

These New Yorkers passing by Boots were looking at her and she felt a little ashamed, but also excited by the power that her looks gave her. She knew it must look funny but also incredibly sexy to these New Yorkers in their perfect black suits watching a 6 foot tall girl with mad tossled hair waving her hands under her lips and blowing like mad at her finger tips like her life depended on it. She was hopping from foot to foot. Her denim mini was riding up a bit and she was resisting the desire to pull it down a bit to pull it down a bit.

When a fat woman passed by, looked her up and down and gave her a dirty look while the man next to her actually opened his mouth in amazement as he slowly passed her by, she had a funny feeling that even if this guy did not wait, she would have no trouble meeting a man in New York.

Again, Isadora started running on her 6 inch heels, down these alien streets of Canary Wharf, passing strangers who looked at her, not like some woman from another country, but from another planet altogether.

Then, she saw him, almost at the exact moment when he saw her. He smiled and she smiled and she knew in that moment that being a New York escort would not only allow her to buy lots of pretty dresses, but it would also be lots of fun.

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