Bangkok April 2009, I walked towards the center of the city that was it, no map, no destination. Having the shroud that was this place and by walking lifting the veil that was. I met Duon in a little alley. “You are so handsome, you want pretty little girl for you? I can find you one?” she said with all the contrasting sweetness that this question otherwise held for me. “No, no thank you.” I said. She touched my face with here hand, her eyes held such sorrow for me. I asked if I could take her picture she said yes. After we sat and talked. She told me how she was a prostitute during the Vietnam War. That now she doesn’t work so much. I gathered she helps find men and matches them to girls that she knows in the neighborhood. She wanted whisky so I bought her a bottle and we shared it there on the street, I gave her some money, I wanted to do more, to take back the time, but I also felt that I didn’t want to put my regret for her life on her, that its hers and no one else’s’ and I have no right to do that. We talked, she was so sweet, the girls who do “work” see this too, and they respect her or maybe its pity, or even fear that they see there future in her.