She had been on this corner—of Neville Street and Templeton Avenue—for over 20 years. No-one knew this of course. Not the revolving cadre of johns that each night after dark drove their cars steadily and meticulously down Templeton looking for marks, or the gaggle of other T-bags loitering on the far corner of the intersection.

Occasionally the new hustlers—and there were always new ones—would get bored on a slow night and stare across the intersection where she stood, perhaps wondering why nobody crossed over to her corner. Those who tried were put quickly into their place. Not by her, but by the other, more seasoned T-bags who knew that the south east side of the intersection belonged to her, and her alone.

Most of the T-bags were living at the flea-bag Americana hotel on Braxton road. Others lived crowded together in small, cold-water flats in further reaches of the city and took the tube to Earl’s Court station each evening. The reason that none of them knew how long she had been working Templeton and Neville is that none of them ever lasted long enough to notice her longevity. Most were working for drug money, hoping they’d have enough left over to pay for their room at the hotel when they the evening’s shabby festivities were done. Others chose to hook because they didn’t know what else to do, or how else to make money in this miserably cold and stingy city.

For most T-bags the corner of Neville and Templeton was a dead-end, a pit-stop on their way down to a darker, more dissolute existence when their looks would begin to go and they could no longer afford the elaborate outfits and lavish make-up that the Johns craved as much as the sex. A few might clean up their act and get real jobs as hairdressers or a waiters. They came and went, the T-bags, and though they all knew she was here before them and would be here after they were gone, none of them suspected how long that had actually been.

She didn’t mind. She rarely spoke to those on the other side of the street, and the new ones were quickly warned to leave her alone. She had her regulars, but she never gave johns her mobile number and if they wished to find her they, like everyone else, had to drive down Neville Street looking for her. The other T-bags had their names for her. Pink lady. Black Madonna. Cinderella, because of the frilly, fairy-tale pink dresses and matching pumps she sometimes wore. Occasionally she would add a tiara to the outfit, and once or twice, to tease the others jealous of her success with the johns, a magic wand made out of tinfoil with a plastic yellow star on top. It’s easy! that star seemed to say. And maybe a bit magic too!

But the magic was not in the star. It was in her mind with the others. She had stayed on the streets after her ascension because they wanted her to, and none of the T-bags on the other side of the intersection could even imagine her purpose, her role. And tonight was a more interesting night because there was a new ascension. The young university professor. She heard his voice, felt his confusion and panic and remembered her own all those years ago when she first ascended. She had been working the streets even then, but homeless and addicted. The ascension had fixed that, remove her need for drugs and given meaning to her life. It would give meaning to the young professor’s life too. While she was listening a black Suburu SUV pull up in front of her and sat idling at the curb. She heard a click as the passenger door was electronically unlocked by the driver. A few of the other T-bags looked over at her as she opened the door and got in. The man in the driver’s seat did not even look at her, kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the road and she settled into the seat and closed the door behind her.

“This body is not me,” the man said, still not looking at her. “I am not limited by this body.”

“I am life without boundaries,” she replied. The man nodded, gently pressed on the gas and eased the vehicle forward and back onto the street. She had an assignment. The young professor. She sat back in the seat and relaxed as she was driven where she needed to go. Where they all wanted and needed her to be.