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Monday, January 08, 2001

I was fingerprinted, photographed, and received a laminated masseuse license

ŇThere were businessmen, travelling from who-knows-where, not high-ranking enough with their clients to warrant an actual hooker. There was a ship full of young Dutch sailors, who made me blush. There were cops. Then there was a paraplegic Vietnamese man, a challenge in a wheelchair. He needed help disrobing. I could manage his awkward movements as he got onto the table, held no repugnance for his useless legs, and the language barrier was surmountable, but what he made known horrified me: He wanted a handjob.Ó —The Fray"

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