On the one hand, this is familiar. This is every sex worker's worst, most brutal look at the business, the day when you believe everything they ever told you was wrong + pitiful+dirty about it, set out in Lau's elegant spare prose.
On the other, I'm getting so tired of Lau's apoliticized, humorless, bleak, egocentric, pretentious, victim-filled view of the universe...
I loved _Runaway_, but the brilliant precocious sad young street kid who wrote that diary became a woman who developed the *worst* parts of her gifts, in a sense.