Men, all men, were always trying to get hold of me, you know.
I have survived and possibly I should not hope for more than that.
The fathers, if they got me alone, would try to kiss and fondle me. I hated it.
They wanted to hear about the sex, of course. But not the rest; no one wanted to hear the rest.
One way of reading my life is that I have been in constant search for a father.
Even a criminal has the right to a new life, but they made sure I did not have that. They just didn't stop calling me a prostitute for ever and ever and ever and ever.