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You don't remember much more than running from the club. you ran, and ran. You were several blocks away before you realized that you left your purse with your money and hotel key.
You sit down in the dark alley. A choked sob escapes your throat, as you pull your phone out of the water. You sat there, wet, cold, lost, and desperate. you covered your face and cried. A far state from an hour ago. The headlights flood the alley and you shield your eyes.
"Are you ok?" You hear the man's voice, but can't see him. Your savior. His name is Jack. He helps you to his car and brings you to his small, but neat apartment.
He makes you tea and brings you a towel. He doesn't pry. He let's you sit there, on his couch, wrapped in a blanket, drinking tea.
Eventually, you begin small talk. He tells me some cheesy jokes and you laugh. When you ask him what he does, he jokes again.
"I'm a whore dealer." He says, with a grin. You laugh, and finish off your cup.
"Don't you mean, pimp?" You ask, still giggling. It feels good to laugh. You're beginning to feel lighter. Like you could float.
"No." He says, in a cool tone. "I sell them."
"Where do you find women to sell?" You ask, slowly. This joke is going a little far.
"Well," he stands up. The room begins to sway. "I drug their tea." The world goes black.
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