The night breeze of Lagos carried with it the hum of distant music and the faint smell of roasted suya. Beneath the flickering lights of Allen Avenue, Susan walked with quiet confidence, her heels clicking against the pavement like the rhythm of survival.
The only life Susan knew was the street life. Her father had died when she was still a little girl, leaving behind only fading memories and unpaid bills. Her mother, a woman with tired eyes but strong hands, sold cooked food in a wheelbarrow, pushing it through the streets from dawn till dusk. That was their only source of income, and it barely kept the roof over their heads.
Susan was the only child, her mother’s pride and pain. She never made it to the university, her mother simply couldn’t afford it. After her O’level, she watched her classmates move on with their dreams while hers slowly faded into the noise of Lagos.
Now in her twenties, Susan was far more exposed than her age could explain. The city had shaped her, molded her into someone who understood the power of appearance, of charm, of seduction. She called it hooking up business a polished name for what it truly was. Nights were her stage, clubs her battlefield.
She was always at the popular lounges and nightclubs, where lights flashed like broken promises and laughter drowned in music. She hunted quietly, her eyes sharp, her smile disarming, waiting for her next client.
She didn’t dream of anything beyond survival. No fantasies of love, no plans for tomorrow, just one night at a time, one client at a time.
For Susan, life wasn’t about finding purpose. It was about enduring the city that never pitied anyone who fell behind.
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