We walked through the streets of the red light district, and i kept on thinking, who would want to do this job? what do they do throughout their day? What is this? Why? Why? Why?… How differently I must think from them. How can people actually go and select a human product. How can you sell your purest self?
The red light district is another world. As you walk, you see red vitrinas, or red lighted rooms with a window facing outside toward the street. You would walk staring, as if they were stores, but instead, woman wearing just enough to cover their honesty. We saw a guy walking and asking to every girl something, perhaps seeing which one was worth it the most, until he found one who answered him something he liked. It was so terrible to see how they would sell themselves; Opening their windows or doors to try and seduce every man who seemed to want something.
I kept on making eye contact with some of the ones we passed, trying to imagine if my stare meant anything to them. It’s as if they were dead inside, or as if they felt nothing. Some looked wiling to do what they were doing, others seemed to have it under control, and others were simply doing what they can.
As we continued to walk we’d see closed curtains with their red lights, women at work, their makeup and cigarettes visible from outside. In other windows you could see handcuffs, playboy blankets, some had their beds there, visible from outside. Others had stairs that led to their room which you couldn’t see. At a point I saw a little kid shouting like kids do, from the second floor of one of the prostitute’s window. That was a shocker. I felt pain just for the suppositions I made, or didn’t make.