He's a Wh0re

I

Emmie once dreamed of becoming a celebrated photojournalist in Hollywood. But Los Angeles, for all its promises of fame, has been anything but kind. Her journey feels hollow, and she’s hungry—physically and otherwise.

"Life overseas is tough," she sighs, feeling the weight of reality as she wanders past the towering buildings of downtown LA. Despite its moniker, City of Angels, to her, it feels closer to an inferno. In her mind, she’s almost homeless. With barely enough for rent and nothing left for new clothes or even a decent meal, she feels like one misstep could send her to the crowded streets of Skid Row. Her stomach tightens as she imagines it.

The dreams she nurtured back in the Philippines—a good job, a spacious apartment, support for her family—seem distant. She’d pictured herself in a cute red car, toting the latest DSLR, even a puppy by her side. Now, she’s left walking the gritty streets of Los Angeles, keeping her head low to avoid noticing people’s judgmental stares.

With a resigned shrug, she arrives at her job: Louis Cafe, a small, retro coffee shop that sits on a quieter corner, untouched by the buzz of busier streets. She musters up a smile and steps inside, filling her mind with positive thoughts to make it through another night.

“Hi, Abe baby!”

Abe ignores the flirtatious voice calling his name as he strides to his sleek black Porsche. Pamela leans against his car, barely dressed in a skimpy red outfit and towering stilettos. Heavy makeup highlights her cheekbones and deepens her gaze, giving her a bold look to match her personality.

“Oh yeah?” He raises a sarcastic eyebrow, opening the car door without glancing back.

Pamela jumps as he slams the door shut, her expression turning sour as she watches him drive away. She knows he doesn’t entertain women after work, but Abe’s indifference only fuels her desire. He’s confident, sharp, and mysterious—the kind of man she’d do anything for. Anything.

Emmie trudges along the dim street, her hands buried in her pockets, thoughts circling her mind. She’s considering quitting her job at Louis Cafe to find something that will at least let her afford real food. Right now, her paycheck barely covers rent for her rundown apartment and cheap food that leaves her with an ulcer.

Her stomach growls, reminding her of the feasts back home. She thinks of lechon, her mom’s bihon, and chicken—the simple foods that now feel like luxuries beyond reach.

“Meow.”

Emmie turns to see two green eyes glimmering in the darkness. She freezes for a moment, but when a small gray cat pads over to her feet, she relaxes and smiles.

“Are you alone here too?” she asks, crouching down to stroke the kitten’s tiny head.

The cat’s soft fur is dirty, and its ribs press lightly against her fingers. Her heart aches for it, and she decides to bring it along.

They soon reach a nearby convenience store, where Emmie buys instant noodles and canned goods, just enough to keep her going. Her gaze lingers on the fried chicken in the glass display, but she tears herself away—it’s beyond her budget. As she pays at the counter, she feels the kitten brush against her ankle.

She’s almost out the door when a voice calls out behind her.

“Hey, miss!”

Ignoring it, she hurries down the sidewalk. The kitten is hungry too, and she’s eager to get home and cook something.

“Hey!” A hand grabs her elbow, and Emmie’s instinct takes over. She spins around and kicks back defensively, just as her old self-defense teacher taught her.

“Aww!” The person she kicked—a middle-aged woman—drops to the ground, clutching a bucket of fried chicken and two canned beers.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry!” Emmie says, startled.

It turns out her unintended victim is Ruth, a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a soft smile. Ruth graciously forgives her, insisting that Emmie come back to her apartment, just a few blocks away, so she can help her with a bandage.

Ruth’s apartment is modest but tidy, and Emmie notices how cozy it feels compared to her own dingy place. The walls are lined with warm yellow lighting, and the scent of fried chicken lingers in the air.

“Thank you so much for helping me,” Ruth says, wincing as Emmie dabs her ankle with a cloth. “I saw you at the store. Figured you might want some chicken. Your stomach seems to agree.” Ruth chuckles as Emmie’s stomach growls audibly.

They both laugh, and for the first time in weeks, Emmie feels something close to comfort. Ruth heads to the kitchen and returns with a steaming plate of chicken and a glass of juice. Emmie hesitates but eventually accepts, grateful for this unexpected kindness.

“My name’s Ruth,” the woman says, extending her hand.

“Emmie.” She shakes Ruth’s hand, warmth flooding her chest. For now, at least, she’s reminded that kindness still exists in this sprawling city.

And today, she eats chicken to her heart’s content.

After two years living alone in Los Angeles, Emmie finally feels like she’s found a friend in Ruth. They started spending time together after their first conversation at Ruth’s house. Emmie learns that Ruth has been divorced and living alone for the last twenty-five years. They share stories from their lives, from happy moments to sad and frustrating ones. For the first time in two years, Emmie has someone she can confide in, laugh with, and lean on during bad days. Until now, she’d felt hollow, like a part of her was missing.

In just a couple of months, their bond deepens. Ruth treats Emmie like a daughter, and Emmie, in turn, grows to care deeply for her friend. They meet up to talk about life, often finding comfort and laughter in each other’s company. Emmie also learns about Ruth’s struggle with gynecologic cancer—a tumor in her uterus that has spread to her cervix, leading to frequent discomfort and medical visits. Emmie accompanies her to the hospital, offering the companionship Ruth has been missing. Ruth rarely speaks of her family; though she mentioned a son, there’s a clear sadness in her eyes when she talks about him.

Despite her general distrust of others, Emmie finds herself caring deeply for Ruth, feeling a strong urge to be a source of comfort.

One day, she suggests,

“Ruth, would you like me to cover for you at work while you rest and recover from surgery? Just until you’re back on your feet.”

Ruth looks taken aback, her brows knitting as she takes in Emmie’s proposal. They’re sitting at a cozy cafe, one where Ruth is a regular. Emmie is just happy to have Ruth visit, even if her coffee-making skills leave much to be desired. But Ruth never complains; she sips the coffee, pretending it’s as perfect as any barista’s.

“That job isn’t for you, Emmie,” Ruth says, her voice firm.