It began with an awkward phone call: "Would you like to, um, go bowling with me?"  
"Go what?"  
"Go... uh... bowling. Would you like to bowl with me? I'll pay for everything, of course."  
"You just want to go bowling?" She was incredulous.  
"Yeah, I'll go bowling with you. What time do you want to go?"  
 
So it was set. My first date with a prostitute would be at a bowling alley in west Broward. We could talk about whatever she wanted. Do whatever she felt like doing. As long as it didn't involve anything even close to sex.  
 
It had to be one of the weirder propositions she'd heard. Call it some sort of half-baked sociological experiment: What happens when you take a hooker on a regular date? What happens when you share a walk on the beach or a piece of pizza instead of, oh, something that ends in job?