Determined to pimp me, in effect, he asks me to pick the hottest whores in the joint.
I nod towards a sultry pair who look like they don't want to be here, either.
'I'm starting to like brunettes, too,' he agrees quickly. 'With dark hair and skin—that gypsy kind of look.'
I don't know what he's talking about—I wouldn't recognize a gypsy unless she had a headscarf and crystal ball—but there's no doubt the two girls are gorgeous—especially the one with the butterscotch hair and matching eyes.
John's more than happy to invite her over for a drink, informing me that her name's Linda and she's twenty-four.
'She's nice—and she's got big tits!'
He's more than happy to say this to her face, lavishing praise on her cleavage the moment she joins us, telling her in pervy pidgin how much he'd love to take photos of her for 'erotic modeling.'
And it's at precisely this point that I begin to feel sorry for her.
She obviously resents the degradation but needs the money, and here's this creep trying to wear her down even though she's said no.
So I decide to get her alone.
And the most obvious way to do that in a brothel—while also getting a peek at the rooms—is to buy an hour of Linda's time.
The going rate is about 2,400 crowns—not even $100.