Human Trafficking Isn’t Just Overseas: It’s Alive in D.C. and its Suburbs.
(Washington Post) — Her name was “Elizabeth London,” she said. And, shivering in a short, white skirt and tottering on huge, acrylic heels too big for her little feet, she was standing on a corner in Northwest Washington, about four blocks from the White House, “waiting for a friend.” She was a child, about 15, I guessed. Her makeup was clumsy and clumpy, her long, blond hair was limp. The detective with me agreed that she was a kid, but she had no I.D., so he couldn’t prove it.
