BENIN MOTEL, FRIDAY
Car park in the blanket of darkness.
Highlife fights the night.
Felix checks time.
“Twenty-three girls now,” he says.
Between eighteen and twenty-five, good.
Oseh pockets phone.
“Seven more. Thirty will do.”
Die-hard girls to convince the scared.
“Well-protected on this journey,”
Felix lies, or believes.
Motel lights hide trafficking.
John’s house is one prison.
This car park is the next.
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