I cannot begin this story without first describing my car. After my first crap car was smashed to pieces in a wreck not my fault, I was on the look out for the cheapest but longest lasting car possible. The end result was he whom I refer to as "Chancey," the tan 1986 Pontiac Bonneville, complete or shall I say lacking all four hub caps, the hood ornament, and a general sense of dignity. Chancey is 21 years old, a year older than I am, but still has automatic locks and windows, although only the automatic windows actually work. Oh, and one more thing, in another road trip I am not chronicling in this story, my companions decided they wanted to graffity the inside of my car -- and so now anyone who rides in my car pulls out a Sharpie and signs their name, doodles, writes mathematical equations, or the infamous "Vaginas, Oo-Ha-Ha!" or "Drugs ---->"

It being Friday night and the local bar scene being only a couple blocks away, my friend and I decided to go out for a few drinks. We ended up meeting this random girl on the way who was walking by herself in the same direction. A little small talk led to the three of us hanging out the entire night. My friend seemed kind of into her, so I was cool just being a wing man. But as the night went on, more and more evidence started pointing to the fact that this girl might not just be looking for a good time, she might actually be a professional. Her attempt to hook my friend up with a drug dealer lead to a premature end to the evening, so no proposition for sex was ever made. Unfortunately that means we'll never know for sure what her real agenda was. My friend kept on trying to defend her as a spoiled rich girl, who just wanted to party, but I like to think I knew better. So to make my case, I came up with this list of reasons why the girl we hung out with that night might have been a hooker.