A regular John reveals the range of his experiences with sex workers:
I want to tell you about one of one of the best escort relationships I had which was also the most heart wrenching. It was with a woman who I clicked with right away. What I mean is: Our interests, our sense of humor, our musical tastes. We became friends. But she was a recently sober addict and was still having some trouble getting her life back together. Some things happened that resulted in her getting a 24-hour eviction notice from her landlord, and we texted about it that night, and then…I stepped back a little. I was afraid I was getting into something over my head. I sometimes have a problem with compulsively wanting to save broken people, and this compulsion gets me into trouble, and I recognized I was starting to do it again. A few hours after we texted, she killed herself.
She was a secret. Nobody knew that I knew her. I didn’t know her family or friends. I didn’t know if they knew what she did. My family and friends and girlfriend certainly didn’t know she existed. So I had to grieve for a dead friend secretly and I had to question in private, without anybody to talk to, whether I had failed her as a friend in her hour of need.
Tracey Quan interviewed the director of the documentary previewed above:
The Bangkok "fish tank" bordello is glitzy and businesslike. The girls have great hair and they punch a time clock. According to Glawogger, they also get a base salary and keep 100 percent of their tips. Customers (mainly Thais, plus a few expats) gaze through a one-way glass, while the girls stare at a mirrored wall, gossiping. When a man, looking through the glass, confides, "We’re the commodities here," he’s more insightful than you think.
Andrew O'Hehir reviews Whores' Glory:
Right after that scene with the girls from the Fish Tank strutting over the Bangkok street, Glawogger introduces an extraordinary epigraph from Emily Dickinson, one that convinced me right away that this movie was something unusual. "God is indeed a jealous God," Dickinson wrote. "He cannot bear to see/ That we had rather not with Him/ But with each other play."
The Dish 