Fabi, a CDMX-based putita, welcomes a john into her modest hotel room in the bustling neighborhood of Tlalpan. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, size up her client as she leans back on the creaky bed, her nalgotas peeking out from beneath her mini skirt. The room is a blur of cheap motel decor and the faint scent of stale cigarettes. Fabi's fingers, adorned with chipped nail polish, trace patterns on her thigh as she listens to her client's shallow breathing, a symphony of anticipation that's become all too familiar. She smirks, her mind already racing with the next steps in this well-rehearsed performance.