In a grimy motel room, the teen whore lies on the bed, her legs spread, her eyes cold as she awaits her john. He enters, a wad of cash in his hand, a camera in the other. She watches him count the bills, her mind calculating how much longer she'll have to do this, how many more men she'll have to service before she can break free. He hands her the money, a cruel smile on his face, and she begins her dance, her body moving mechanically, her mind a million miles away, her heart heavy with the weight of her choices.