Outside the market the world still slept. Revellers stumbled by shouting bawdy comments, but she carried on working without a flinch. They meant nothing. It meant nothing. It paid the bills: that vast pile of never decreasing ever increasing bills.
She didn’t have a pricelist. Prices were usually whispered into an ear when the customer asked how much. It varied to be honest depending on how well off, drunk, and clean they looked.
When the first of the market traders arrived, she left quietly for home; glad she didn’t have to take punters to the flat where her toddler slept.
Lisa is a writer from Leicester. She has a Master's in Creative Writing from Leicester University and tends to write mostly short fiction. She particularly likes writing to a word limit: usually drabbles - stories of exactly one hundred words. Her work has been published in numerous anthologies.