Blue Room 9, the Girl

But boy am I stressed. After a busy day playing with the boys in the City. You bet I need some relief.
Here I come now, my shirt wit sleeves rolled up, my creased and weary tie, a selfish idiot in no mood for an argument. I blunder recklessly inside the Blue Room, a surging bouncy castle-like movement. I feel and look odious. Most of the prostitutes have already been dispatched on their various errands. One girl is selected for me: A lumpen and insensible girl in her late teens sitting huddled wallflower-like on the bench, like the last box of washing powder on the supermarket shelf.
Fairly pallid and chubby-armed. Rather reticent and might have a tendency to go stiff-bodied, making the act of love difficult. She seems morbidly distracted and blank-faced. As I sat beside her my arm around her and my hand on her belly, talking in a loud, savage, drunken way, I begin to wonder: What planet is this girl from? There seems to be an awkward, sour, bluish tinge to her skin, to her bare flesh, her dimpled thighs which I press with my hands. Maybe it's the light in here?...
I look in her eyes...
Vapid, empty, strange, as if an insectlike intelligence was figuring and plotting abstractly therein. A few specks of glitter on her cheeks. Cold and sorrowful mouth. Her eyes seem to glow with a sour electric-blue light, like someone seen on an infra-red camera.