"Still Falling"
Luli worked nights in a brothel in Hong Kong. She hated the word “worked,” but there wasn’t a better one.
The room was always too warm. The lights buzzed. Someone was constantly smoking in the hallway, so everything smelled faintly of cigarettes, perfume, and whatever they used to clean the floors.
Between clients, Luli sat in front of a small cracked mirror and fixed her lipstick. Sometimes she would stare at herself for a while without doing anything. She had gotten good at making her face look like it belonged to someone else.
The men came and went. Most of them talked too much. Some wanted to tell her about their marriages. Others wanted to complain about their jobs. A few didn't say anything at all.
She preferred those ones.
Outside, Hong Kong kept moving. Trains rattled through the night. Neon signs blinked over streets full of people who had somewhere to be. From the window, the city looked almost beautiful.
That was the annoying part.
Luli sometimes wondered what would happen if she simply walked out and kept walking. She never did. In the morning, she would go home, sleep for a few hours, and come back again.
After a while, survival stops feeling like a decision and just becomes your routine.
This is Luli's story. She is the subject of this drawing. The drawing is graphite, charcoal and ink on paper.
