The Ukrainian Stripper

An Urban Legend of Mutual Sexual Exploitation

We bumped into each other in the city. She was wearing a leopard faux fur overcoat. Her eyelids were thick and painted with a dark violet coat of eye shadow. Her lashes were seductively long, her hair blonde and thick.

I was working right in the heart of the big apple, peddling comedy tickets to stampeding crowds of tourists fascinated by the outrageous spectacle of Times Square and completely oblivious to the sharks who lurked on every other corner, holding up laminated signs in big bold letters that read, COMEDY TICKETS.

I was hustling in those days. I would take a train from Jersey into Manhattan to stand on a corner and bark at people in transit. It was one of the most liberating experiences of my life.

I love testing people’s limits and see how far I could take things before they have the urge to shank me. So, I would make obscene jokes. I found that as long as I said it with a silly grin on my face I would avoid the inevitable beat down from a bewildered Brazilian tourist.

I loved the gig because I was essentially my own boss and got paid to talk to people and provide them with instant entertainment right on the street.