rachel

He’d never paid for sex, but he knew, too, that everything had its time, so he was able to rationalize it, for this was the time, or so he told himself. Her name was Rachel, or so she said, and he’d met her at the furthest barstool from the entrance at The Barnstormer, a local meat market in the downtown singles area. They talked a bit and he told her he hadn’t had sex in a year and she said she’d be willing to address that, if he was interested. He said he was and they bartered a bit, in a consciously clandestine way, and they agreed on a deal and found a motel nearby and, over the course of the next few hours, settled matters. He, of course, was taken by her kindness, which was genuine, he’d judged. She was perfunctory, as always, though sympathetically so, and, perhaps, a trifle taken. When they left, he paid her $300. It was, he would later assess, the best $300 he’d ever spent. She used it to get her car fixed – new muffler. It was a perfect example of free-market economy: A good deal was had by all.