A hard day's (night's?) work.

Today on my commute to work, I was on the metro with a woman. A certain kind of woman.

She was of an older profession, for argument's sake, let's say....the oldest profession.

Now, I would think that normally, one wouldn't be able to tell, in a city like DC, if someone were an escort. But this lady? Was not what I would describe as an escort. She looked, to be charitable, lacier. With what she was wearing at 7:30 in the morning clearly at the end of her workday, she looked...well...cold.

I guess pimps don't share their fur-lined coats.