I leaned against the bar and started to imagine myself into the role--what was it like to be a working girl here? Were they making money for families back home? Single mothers sacrificing for their children? Or did they just like having spending money for Prada bags and designer outfits? I had seen a number of these young whores walking in the expensive malls on Orchard road with older white men, hands clutching the handles of shopping bags. Were they rented by the day, by the week? Was shopping one of the perks of being a high end escort? I doubted that the girls in this bar were taken shopping--they seemed like one-night stand material. Many of them were soft, with belly fat oozing over their low-cut skirts. They wore make-up like a stereotype of cheap whores. They were also darker skinned than the high class escorts we had seen walking in the hallways of our hotel, and I realized I probably looked and was dressed in a way that made me look more like them than the girls in this bar. I must have stood out somehow, literally because of my height, but also perhaps because I was light skinned and half-Asian, exotic looking amidst their dark complexions. .....