The curtains are usually closed. Not because anyone died, but because, being one of three apartments on the ground floor, Tisha Lopez doesn't want anyone peering in. There's some nosy beggars around here, even that nice Mr Ryland, and they'd all too soon cast the first stone if they really knew what goes on here. Bad enough as it is, the looks and the whispers I get, just because men like my company and I have a living to make.
Tisha folds herself into her bed, her visitor having left. It's been a long night, but worth it for £140.