“If we’re gonna talk, it’s going to be about you, not me,” I wager.

“We’ll do Q & A,” he says. I think about it for a second. The bus ride to club Majesty is long, but do I really want to confess my secrets? I ignore my conscious again, knowing I’m going to make a bad choice.

“Fine. I’m going first. Why are you riding a bus? I saw your apartment, you shouldn’t be riding a bus.”

“My parents don’t want me to have a car. They think that I’ll have girls in the back seats,” he admits.

“Are you—” I begin, but he interrupts me with a shushing sound.

“It’s my turn. What happened tonight?”

“Got in a fight with my abusive dad,” I answer. He is about to ask another question, when my eyebrow goes up and he decides to stay silent, “Why do your parents think you’re so promiscuous?”

“Because, well, I got a girl pregnant once and they’re still freaking out about it, I guess,” he says. The bus pulls over and I begin to walk out. He grabs my shoulder and asks, “My question is, why are you a prostitute?”