In the house on the corner of the steepest street, with the thatched roof and french doors, is a harlot. She nests in the second storey master bedroom with a four-poster bed and black lingerie.

The boys all park in the same place. Just a little up the hill, out of sight. When she lets them inside and draws them upstairs, they know that they are not the first. They are there on her command. And when she shuts the door, she shuts out the world. She asserts her superiority and touches up her make-up.

When the session is over, so is the palaver.

“I’ll call you when I need you.” And perhaps she will.

The boys make their way back up to their cars, just a little out of sight, a little too far uphill to make the walk easy. Because not all things are easy.