There was a man standing at the corner of the building above the billboard. He was looking at my lifeless body for a long time before turning back and walking slowly to his rented room with darkened eyes and a troubled expression.
"Did her boss dump her?" asked the vegetable seller granny loudly.
"What? Dumped her? She is a prostitute!" said a smoker with an even louder voice.
"I heard she charged forty-five dollars a night. It is way more expensive than the ones who were standing at Bazley Street."
What? Forty-five dollars! Get real! I charged ninety dollars.
It was almost empty at the police station. So, except for the hum of the electric fan, it was so quiet.
I did not have any idea where they took my body.
A man with a face full of fat was sitting on the desk and scribbling on a piece of paper with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Captain Campbells, did you close this case just like that?"
"Well, isn't it just a suicide case?” He answered with an impatient tone.
I hated the police the most, even when I was a child. They were not trustworthy.