Dalrymple recalls his days living in a large English city. In the quarter where he resided, every night a sex-work human resources manager, or pimp, would bus in a bevy of sex workers, or prostitutes, who would stand on the corner and wait for clients.
The sex workers,
much the worse for drugs, seemed mainly in their 30s and 40s. They were desperate, and it seemed to me that their clients — mainly travelling-salesmen types — must have been pretty desperate too.
Residents of the respectable bourgeois street were, needless to say, not especially happy with the situation.
Brief-carnal-liaison co-ordinator’s fury over threat to sex industry
One of Dalrymple’s neighbours
formed a group that went out every night photographing and taking down the registration numbers of the kerb-crawling cars. This had so severely an inhibitory effect upon business that the sex-work human resources manager came in his car to threaten the vigilante group (aged, on average, 70). He flashed a gun at them, but my neighbour told him not to be silly.
to one of the many parts of the city where skeletal, edentulous women having sex in the street would not be noticed.