DJ

When she was nine an uncle in Seattle raped her. That’s the year she became an addict, too.
But things are looking up for DJ: she’s down to three rocks a week, and at 32, after six years in the trade, she’s working to leave the streets and turn her experience into a resource for others. Her fiancée supports the move—a far cry from the old boyfriend who “had me go out to work and then beat me up for the money so he could get his rock.” On the Downtown Eastside, DJ bridges the trade by working with service providers like Pace, Pivot and the Carnegie Centre, a community nexus where she can often be found. Men and women check in with her constantly, asking for help in accessing social services—including a strung-out cousin whose recovery DJ is focussing on. When women are abused (one was raped with a pop bottle covered in Tiger Balm) “they come to me first.” During our meeting at Carnegie in mid-November, a downcast man slipped something into her hand and stalked off. She held it tight. Purple nail polish, silver rings. A minute later her hand opened. It held a candy.

Money made: $100 to $200 each night Number of clients per week: 10 to 20 First trick: 13 years old Biggest anxiety: Getting assaulted [DJ has been shot twice] Worst part of the trade: Standing out there for eight hours and you don't break [get picked up]