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The male driver points at Ursula. “Get in.”
Showing a lot of leg, Ursula complies. The inside of the car stinks of body odor and rancid fish and chips. Ursula takes out a small flask of cheap perfume and sprays her throat in a vain attempt to drown the stench. She peers into the mirror of her compact and smoothes her eyebrows with a wet fingertip.
“Never mind that bollocks,” says the driver. He’s a burly man. Hairy and coarse. Ursula shrugs and puts away the compact.
“Fifteen pounds for a blowjob. Twenty-five for a shag. No kissing. Forty if you want something kinky.”
The man smirks and digs in his pocket. He comes up with two twenties and flings them at her. Ursula sighs as she stuffs them in her purse.
The man pulls into a small car park in front of a grungy, run-down building.