The second time I passed her
She became convinced
 My walk
 Was far
 From innocent
She beckoned me to talk with her
 Eyes filled with lust
 And tugged 
Her leather
I kept my pace
 Gazed down the dingy road
 And feigned disinterest 
I asked myself:
'Just what's the motivation 
For that woman, basked in neon
 To wait out so late?
 ‘A week of food, perhaps’, I muttered
 ‘Brand new clothes 
Cash for long-due rent?’
 Some rather useful things, I mused,
 That choosing to turn back
 I just forwent. 

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