Growing up I don’t remember a time not knowing what a hooker was or what drugs were. Knowing what hookers did was unclear, but I knew it was not something that happened during the day. Point road was one of the main roads downtown in the city close to our little town. It was famous. Famous for hosting ladies of the night, homeless of the night and whomever opted for nightly dalliances at a cost.

I remember coming up to the road and my mother telling my father: “Take point road, it's time for school.” At the time it terrified me. My mother would make me use the middle back seat, buckle up, and she would move her seat all the way back to be close to next to me in the back.

“Drive slow” she said. “Okay” my dad said. “Look to the left, red top - hooker!” “Hooker” I would repeat, my young brain trying to calculate the mechanics of what I’m saying. “Do you know why she’s a hooker” my mom said.” “DRUGS!” She would yell. “Look to the right” “Shaking hooker.” “Shaking hooker” I repeated. “Why is the hooker shaking?” “Drug Detox!” “Detox” I would say. “Look next to the homeless guy!” “Dancing hooker!” Why is she dancing? “Hooker on ecstacy” “on ecstacy” I said. “Look next to the trash flame.” “Ugly hooker!” Why is she is ugly, I asked. “Hooker on Meth, fucked up her face.”

“WILL YOU DO DRUGS, WILL YOU DO DRUG?” My mother shook me until I said no. We had this lesson often.