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The girls lit up cigarettes, began to snicker and told her that
they sold the best goods available and the going rate for
them was much higher than for mushrooms…
Nadezhda looked on as they brushed their hair, applied
make-up to their weary faces, smoked and sipped from a
previously unnoticed bottle. Then they positioned
themselves some distance from each other facing the
oncoming cars, their hands held out at their side, their
thumbs stuck out provocatively.
The warm fragrance of her bath still encircles Nadezhda as
she takes her usual walk along the edge of the highway. She
has beaten her own special path. Its distance from the
traffic is adequate for her not to be hit accidentally, nor
sprayed with slush when it has snowed unpredictably or
when there is a thaw.
It is a sunny, warm autumn day. The highway is dry. The
traffic – not too heavy, nor too sparse. Somewhat middling.
The real work begins in the afternoon, but she arrives
earlier. To talk to the girls, to swap stories. Not far from the
old bus stop is their warehouse – an abandoned high-
voltage electricity storage unit. It is a place where they can
keep their cosmetics, drinks, basic first-aid, and various
knick-knacks needed for their daily work. It is good here at
the edge of the highway – the pimps leave them alone.
They think that the girls are only wanted by desperate long-
distance drivers of the large vans travelling to and from