Last night I held a sobbing Filipino hooker in my arms. For ten minutes we stood in the ladies restroom at a club as she bawled; it was the only thing I could do for her. She didn't speak English...I picked up one word, "son." That is the kind of moment you never forget-- heartbreaking...as though I held the weight of the world's injustice in my arms, and she was a 45 kilo migrant sex worker.
My night became even weirder from that moment on. A member of the national staff with my internship program and I were speaking with some facilities managers at the Best Western (the club is inside the hotel). A third man randomly enters the conversation, but is in no way affiliated with the others. We are cordial, but nothing more.
About a half hour later, our group leaves the club. They drop me at my door, and I head up to my flat. A few moments later, I hear loud knocking and the door bell ring several times. There is the random third man. I open the door enough to tell him to fuck off, and asking how the hell he found my flat...and he proceeds to push his way in saying, "I like you...I like you.." (how can you like me, when we exchanged all of five or six words?)
He had followed me home, apparently.
I didn't let him get very far before I punched him and threw him out of the building as he tried to kiss me. I let security know and I promptly walked next door and crashed in a different flat.
Woof.
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