"How much?" the jaded clients ask, eyes roving over the teens' barely covered flesh. "Fifty for a handjob, hundred for a blowjob, two fifty for a fuck," they respond, voices laced with a mixture of bravado and vulnerability. The air is thick with the scent of cheap perfume and desperation as they lean in, whispering their services, their prices. Once the deal is struck, they hurriedly pull up their skirts or unzip their jeans, eager to get it over with, to earn that money that will buy them another day of survival.