Chapter One: Kai

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I don’t want to do this.

But I like to eat.

Being broke makes you do funny things.

Truly, I have no excuse.

I read a text, rolled out of bed, and drove to the beach. Where the air smells like a combination of piss and salt. Bored, I pull out the cellie, and scroll down, looking. The text popped up fifteen minutes ago: CREST Ho’TEL/ BAD GIRL / WORKN HARD 4 the $$$

A “bad girl” who “works hard for the money.” Easily half of L.A.’s female population fits that description. She probably another nobody / wannabe / never gonnabe. I reach for the ignition, ready to leave and then - there - across the street, I see -

A flash of heel. Tight skirt. Swingy clutch purse. Her head turns. She looks back. Chin to shoulder. She’s someone - who, I don’t know - but I fumble, raise the camera up, point and -

Click -

She follows a fat man -


Walks down a breezeway

Click -

Stops, pauses outside Room 707

Click -

He opens it, ushers her inside

Click -

And the door shuts -

Click -

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