"I sell things."

I had a conversation with a Mexican prostitute at Footsies, the bar that Winkie so capably commands. This prostitute (and I'm not sure she was but I'll get to that confusion in a moment) had wavy peroxide hair, red-orange lips over-lined and two rings of black eyeliner around her dull but kindly black eyes. She held onto a glass of Merlot like it was stick-shift. I was at Footsies to keep Winky company but while she wandered off to make drinks, the MP struck up a conversation, marked by her great giant pauses before all of her replies. Sometimes her answers were to questions I hadn't asked. Eventually it wound into this strange and undefinable territory...

Me: So, what do you do?
MP: (Giant pause in which she slowly moved her head around, as if she was hearing something from a great distance) I'm rich.
Me: Oh yeah? That's pretty cool.
MP: I own buildings, two in Silver Lake and I'm getting one downtown.
Me: That's great.
MP: Downtown is the future.
Me: I hear that. I gotta get on that.
(Another great, exhaustive pause in which I could've had a whole other conversation with someone else. Instead, I chose to watch MP continue to loll her head around, her eyes falling on any object in the room, but seeming not to register the difference between woman and wine glass, juke box and bar stool, bouncer and cash register.)
MP: (with sudden renewed interest) Listen, I think you're a beautiful woman.
Me: Well, thanks.
MP: And if you want to hang with me, I'll show you things.
Me: (long pause) OK...
MP: Listen, I sell and get rid of things.
Me: Like what?
MP: Everything, whatever.
Me: (excited) You mean drugs?
MP: Oh, no, no, no. I don't do drugs. No, never.
Me: (disappointed) Oh.
MP: I sell things, a lot of things.
Me: Things.
MP: Yeah, so if you want to see what I can do for you... I'll give you my number.
Me: Uh, sure.
MP: I'm into women, not men.
Me: Oh, OK.

Later on that night, this woman ended up getting sort of unofficially kicked out. But I have her number in my cel phone programmed under "Don't Answer." Yes, I gave her my cel phone. What, like she's even going to remember what Footsies is the next day? Much less Ms. Scarlet?