I spend a lot of time riding up and down Fallsway. It’s like St. Charles in New Orleans–I know every bump and crack and bus stop and crosswalk likely to be overrun by cars unwilling to stop before pulling through to make their rights on red. The blocks change quickly here, and I always wonder how the tourists who booked their hotels in “Harbor East” feel when they see they are sharing their neighborhood with a literal prison industrial complex, a police garage, the biggest post office ever, and a number of homeless services centers; something tells me that part isn’t making it into the ads. Cities never represent themselves in any complexity, because that doesn’t pay. Some of those tourists are probably happy to be a quick walk to Scores, however. This gentleman’s club is open all the time, and they try lots of things to bring folks in, from free buffets and lunch menus to theme nights and holiday decorations. Last fall the lions in front got wreaths of autumn leaves around their necks and today Scores has inexplicably decided to thrown us a luau, or at least that’s my guess with the ALOHAs on the fence and the plastic palm trees at the doors. It reminded me of that sweet sixteen party thrown by my McCo-Worker in Lincoln City, Oregon that one year–sparse decorations, a crock pot of hot dogs, and a dark, empty room, though I don’t remember any strippers. I haven’t been in this place, nor have I eaten at The Dog House, the restaurant just up the block, but I’m guessing they’ve got steady business. In my line of work we are all expected to have Very Strong Opinions about sex work (which I’m guessing is happening here), but all I have to say is that stuff’s complicated, and we know better than to try to vote yes/no, up/down, good/bad on something that’s all about labor, gender, geography, economies, and all the other good stuff that is part of messy life. I snapped my picture and kept on pedaling home. I wonder if I’ll ever lock up the bike and go inside.