My Friend the Pimp
It happened at that budget hotel
out by the highway.
Popular with travelling hockey teams
and horndog businessmen.
And my friend worked front desk overnight.
Seventeen and very gay, back when it was
far from fashionable.
Had to open the continental breakfast nook
first thing in the morning.
The pay was first job awful, but my friend had a side gig.
Worked out a deal with the girls, so they could
bring their tricks back to the hotel.
They paid him a special rate for a room off the books,
and he pocketed the money.
He didn’t even clean the room when they were done.
Just straightened up the bedspread
and rented the room out to unsuspecting guests.
So, you’re a pimp,
I laughed.
No I’m not!
he covered his mouth
in obvious embarrassment.
How are you not a pimp?
You collect from all the hookers,
and even provide them a venue to conduct business.
I could see him thinking, my friend the pimp.
He seemed noticeably bothered by the accusation.
But that pocket full of money
was hard to explain away.
All the fishnet girls that kept coming
and going.
He turned the camera around to face the wall.
I was surprised that management never
asked him about that.
But they probably all had their own nefarious things
to conceal, so my friend kept pimping out all the girls for profit
and no one said anything.
Horror Sleaze Trash 