Before she walked onto the stage – if it could even be called that – she’d had enough weed to almost forget who she was. The other girls told her she would need it. “You won’t get through your first night without it,” they prodded.

The pulsing lights made her feel nauseous. Gingerly, she slid her fingers along the shiny silver pole, feeling the sweat from all the girls before her. She kept her eyes as wide open as possible, trying not to let a single tear escape and ruin the eye makeup she had spent hours on, layers of glitter and shadow and shimmer, nothing like she had ever worn before.

Taking a deep breath, her years of ballet training kicked in, and with one leg hooked around the metal she spun round and round. She could dimly hear the whoops and catcalls in the background, but resisted the urge to cover herself.

It seemed to be years before the song ended. She clambered around on her knees, ignoring the pain, to collect the green bills that had been tossed around her.

But with this, she could escape.