No recent posts? Why not? I haven’t posted bc i delayed replacing my stolen phone. Someone who called himself my friend took it. I figured as much yet I fruitlessly searched my small apartment. I didn’t want to think that I had lost the phone and apparently lost any semblance of security on my phone bc the voicemail was accessed. It was preferable to believe the phone was hidden beneath some clutter as ND I suddenly couldn’t access my account online bc I had forgotten the password. NOT bc domeonshad chsnged that password using skills I lack. Finslly, after tearing yhe place apart, ii Iiihad to admit IIhad been outdmarted, for one thing, and had my lonliness and hope that lonliness can be fixed, used against me.

Hugging someone while plucking his phone out of his backpocket is s manuever I used to practice. There was something else I did to guys, during which, I reached behind them to pick their pockets bc they were distracted. My karma caught up with me.

I open the door to uninvited guests. No, lets say it, intruders. I want totthink I sm contributing to dociety by helping people who need a shower. I used to have this need, but I never showed up empty handed like the people at my door with only a towel in hand. They don’t see me as a helper or s friend but as a target. I’m merely opening myself up to be victimized which will no doubt reinforce the sociopathic delight in getting over on someone clueless. I should’ve had a clue. After all, I used to be so low class I stole from people who let me into their homes. No biggie. They could afford it. When I have people over to my place I need to assemble my phone, keys, money, wallet and secure them in a fanny pack on my waist. I must wear the zipper side against my stomach in case I fall asleep and don’t feel stealthy hands. Then, after I attach my belongings to my person inside my own home, I need to stop lying to myself.

I don’t invite friends. People in need of a shower hitchhike, or “tailgate,” by following residents into my building. They show up unannounced, at times I’m usually out. Jalousie windows are removable in two minutes. The truth is, “friends” climb in. So do the neighbors. They divide the spoils. What spoils do I have to offer? It’s a modest life, my existence, but waaaay better than nothing. I know nothing so I consider myself qualified to make this judgment. The intruders, take friends and neighbors, take food–human & cat, hygiene items, batteries, spare, change, and the info from my prepaid cards. That’s why I had to challenge unauthorized charges for games made to my PayPal account through the linked card– at a time when I had the card. That’s why my hostile, overtly racist next door neighbor watches me from the 10th floor railing ’til I’m off the property. That’s why my neighbor four doors down has a smirk whenever I catch her in my clothes. Today, she looked ridiculous wearing one of my sundresses awkwardly teamed with my jeans & shirt. I know thieves, not friends. Maybe I will continue to let them in so I don’t get to weird from having only a cat. But at least I will tell myself the truth.


Published by X-Streetwalker Turned Sex Talker

Caroleena used to be a drug addicted hooker on streets of downtown Honolulu in the early years of the 21st century. She was not the only learned streetwalker among the sex worker addicts. This group would have been a liberal college admissions officer's dream of diversity seeing as how they represented such a wide range of ages, races, family types, locations of origin, education levels, and gender identities. The two constants were trauma and dependency. Everyone out there had experienced life altering trauma which spurred them to seek refuge in drugs. Addiction was the unexpected phenomenon that kept them stuck in the dope. This downtown area was different from other drug saturated areas of America in one important way. The U.S. is the most violent country in the world, but in this corner of the nation there were no street gangs, no gun violence. You wouldn't get shot but you were probably going to be beaten up and robbed at some point. Interpersonal violence between intimate partners, friends, and family members was viewed as a natural part of being close to people. "Domestics" was something an individual brought upon herself or himself by causing problems in an interpersonal relationship. Caroleena, the perennial pariah even among society's rejects, had no intimate associates who might harm her. Prostitution was not as risky on Oahu as it was most everywhere else because the island was just too small. Everyone was somehow connected to everyone else with only something like two degrees of separation. You commit a crime, someone will know who you are and someone else will know how to find you. Hookers rarely got killed. Honolulu's relative safety allowed Caroleena over 10 years of street longevity until the scene ended when authorities started arresting men for allegedly soliciting undercover police for sex and posting their pictures on the evening news. tells Caroleena's adventures during her decade of addiction and its consequences--homelessness, prostitution, drug dealing, incarceration, family destruction, the list goes on. Every story relates events Caroleena experienced, witnessed, or imagined. The tale of this outcast is skillfully and paradoxically told in the language of the elite. The wording of the posts is itself a testimony to the wide grip that addiction has on all levels of society, even impacting the privileged who were previously thought to be immune to the troubles of the lower class. During these days of opiate addiction maybe she can answer some questions and present applicable solutions. If not, you are still in for a hell of a good read.

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