Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Me v. the Prostitutes

I know, provocative headline.

But that's the business of prostitutes, is it not?

It was a sad day when I learned that my little London haven was shared by many members of the oldest profession. Quite shocked, actually. It took a knowing friend to point out the little pink and red-painted hallways behind opened, unmarked doors here in Shepherd's Market, a village within a village where we live in Mayfair.

Turns out this is the *current*, not the *historic* red light district. And red lights really mean the buildings glow red, either from the paint or the red bulbs, such as that which was visible in the basement flat of our complex. So niave.

I have been mulling over how to approach the problem. Do I do nothing? Do we move? Do I not let it bother me so very much? The latter is not really an option - I'm bothered. It is rare, actually this is probably the first time, that I have been so proximally close to raw evil.

So what do I do with this? I'm taking suggestions here. I've considered fighting it formally through the police and my well-paid taxes, being an undercover missionary and slipping copies of the Book of Mormon through those open doors (per Liz' suggestion), and talking to my friends in the area. I did mention the red bulb to my landlord. It disappeared quite quickly, as did the landlord - don't know if the two are connected at all...

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