Like the best of life’s journeys, it started when Alberto was watching TV. Showtime’s Gigolos, specifically.
The glamour, the excitement, and of course, the stories: It was no 9 to 5. It was an enticing prospect. He wouldn’t be grousing about his unreasonable boss, his unmanageable hours or the daily grind (sparing the double-entendres). Fluorescent tubes and idle chit-chat would give way to neon lights, dapper evenings and that ever-elusive “human connection”.
It never occurred to him that only a year later, he’d be abound in those same stories; the impromptu Romeo to her Juliet, the Clyde to her Bonnie – whoever she needed that night tonight, that he would be. It never occurred to him that, as he made his way out of a failed modelling audition, the woman who slid him her card for escort work had given him the first push on a journey that would take him to Lisbon, Paris and Berlin.
The guys on Gigolos didn’t even leave Vegas.
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