I found an old ragged journal in one of the rooms at my job, The Master-Bates Inn, and started flipping through it. It was written in a school composition notebook. You know, the one with like the cow-print on the cover. I showed it to Jerome at the desk and he told me after reading the name that it belonged to one of the dead hookers. I know he's not lying. He'd know, he processes their payments and takes their information. He was grinning though, when he saw the journal, handing it back to me as if it was meaningless. But to me it was like an archaeological discovery of this decrepit town. So here I am starting my own. Not digital but really writing this shit down. I know this is a yellow memo pad but this was all that was in the office. I'll tape it to my real journal eventually.

(This page was indeed taped onto a school composition book on the first page,)

My older brother had warned us all in the household not to hang around Hathian too long or too often, for the streets were dangerous and loitered with evil. First there was a sniper assassinating people, I think. A few weeks ago there was a crowd gathered by the police station where I hear someone was executed unfairly. A young girl accidentally got shot soon after and died but now the man who shot her is a freshly uniformed cop? I guess that's how they do things around here. It seems this town gets its highs from its lows. The more crime and gang activity and visits at the hospital the more merit your time here is. My family and I here at New Orleans (?) are like a sitcom family. At least on the outside. Everything is always seen through rose-colored glasses and evil and bad guys are unspoken of as if they don't exist.

So I work at The Master-Bates Inn mostly. But that's just one of my few jobs. I also kind of work at the Vudu Spice Shop but I don't like it there. I like the people there but not the environment. The sniper was last seen by the skate park near the shop and I used to like hanging out there a lot before the possibility of getting sniped. Not that that can't happen anywhere but just seems higher risk there. Besides that, I'm just not attuned with all the "spices" there. It's dark, with some devil worshipers on the wall and skulls on the shelves. It's a place I'd like to visit now and then but now stay in all the time. I don't have the heart to tell Jack I want to quit though. He has been so nice to my family and I. But I should really tell him soon. I also work at the Student Union some times. For financial aid. But not for long of course. Only while I am in school. My most proud of job is being an aspiring porn star. Gay porn. It pays more and I enjoy that line of work. I had my first scene with Jack with my manager Nick directing. I'll tell you more another time.

Most of my time is spent here at the Inn; watching customers and hookers come and go. Some with black eyes or swollen lips you're not supposed to ask about. I met Raven the other day. I think his real name is James or something. He almost said it. Raven is this tall big black burly guy with dreads and scars across his eye and mouth. His mouth is stitched up as if someone tried making it wider. He told me it was some Russians he had fun with but they had more fun with him. Raven showed me the new camera system here at the Inn. Each room has one installed so the informed crew who works here can monitor the guests activities. I asked him what it was for exactly but he didn't divulge that information making me understand that while it was for guests and employee protection it was also equally for entertainment. Needless to say, when Jerome is not around, I spend a lot of time watching the video cameras or rewinding them. Best job ever.

I've decided to become a Hathian Hooker. I have no customers yet but I'm totally legit. I don't want any STD's so I guess I'll just have to pick and choose unless I get really desperate with cash. No. No. I won't get that desperate. I'll beg on the street before I sleep with a trucker for a dollar. Technically, I'm an "escort". I have a manager some where. Same manager who manages my porn career. I've only done one porn scene and no "escorted" clients yet so for now I'm working the streets too. But I think he is busy with his own adventures some where. He told me he has like ten kids from ten different women he needs to tend or something. I don't ask. We didn't click too hard and I didn't push it. He asked me to come over once so we could get to know each other but I found getting to know his body was easier than getting to know his personality. It can't be bad for business if I sleep with my own manager, right?

I mostly need money for my ten year old son Abel. He is adopted but he doesn't need to know that. I don't know what he's figured out; If I'm nineteen and he's ten that is. He calls both my brother and I dad. I take care of him more but my brother is the older and more mature one. Which by the way, I think I'm adopted too. My hair is dark and my eyes are brown but my family from upstate New York are all blond and blue-eyed. I was able Abel's age when I came to the conclusion. But I've no desire to find my "real" parents. I don't get why people take on that search. My parents are the folks who raised me as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, my name is Brenton or Brent for short. And this is my story in the place people affectionately dub as "Crack Den". If I die in one of these rooms too, I hope the next hooker finds my journal to learn from my experiences. Or at least get a kick out of it.