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As he does, the cameras start photographing. The three men take Curt to a dreary wood panel room, telling him to strip. Curt will get sixty dollars for letting them take pictures of him masturbating. After some swift negotiating they strike an agreement. Once inside they walk to a back room where two other Pakistanis greet him. With no other options he agrees and walks several blocks with the man to a spice store. All you have to do is masturbate as you are photographed."Ĭurt reluctantly agrees, even though he already posed nude for Marc he hates the idea of being photographed naked. "Nude of course, but there will be no kinky stuff. Knowing already the answer Curt still asks, "What kind of modeling?" "I am so sorry I am flat broke but I have a friend who pays good money for good-looking models like you." I haven't had anything to eat all day except part of a slice of pizza." It is very dangerous for a very pretty boy like you."Ĭurt admits, "I am a runaway, my stepfather was abusing me so I came up to NYC to find a friend of a friend. The man asks, "Why are out alone on the streets. Curt worn out from walking, figures that maybe this man can help him. Outside a dive bar, an older smiling Pakistani male says hello. Tired he needs a place to shower and sleep, a place to think over his next move. It angers him that everybody is approaching him while he wants to be left alone. And dirty old men keep trying to talk to him. His roots are burned completely behind him. With each step up and down Broadway, 7th and 8th Avenue, 42nd and 43rd Streets, the boy puts even more miles between him and that comfortable home he left behind. With no money and no place to sleep the fuming boy, grabs his bag and walks into the night leaving the slice behind. Now he will never be able to contact him. Inside his wallet was Big John's phone number. By the time he realizes it is too late, two Spanish kids snatch the wallet and run out into the night. Grossed out Curt grabs his bags and moves to another section, foolishly leaving his wallet behind. Suddenly Curt realizes the guy is playing with himself. Curt feels the piercing stare from an old creepy geezer sitting just a couple tables away. After finding a suitable table he sits and munches on the slice. Needing privacy he heads toward the back. Paying for the food, his wallet is left absent mindly left on the tray. Pretty, almost too pretty, with brownish hair parted in the center, and small at 5 feet tall and only a hundred pounds.įinding an Sbarro's Italian restaurant, Curt orders a slice and a Mountain Dew. He did not look like the type of kid you would expect to see walking the city's streets. Feeling so afraid and unsure, golly would he love to take the next bus back home but he can't. Walking down 42nd Street, the dealers and the whores approach but he has neither the interest nor the money to buy anything they are selling.
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Within minutes the gritty reality of city life envelopes. Needing a place to crash, nervously he calls Marc's friend Big John but there is no answer. The city garishly lit up looked so different than the green quiet suburbs left behind. Stepping off the bus at Port Authority at one in the morning, the scared young runaway never felt so alone in his young life.