The Butcher of Phnom Penh

It is an hour before lunch time in a Phnom Penh street market. There are many like it across the city.

Vendors compete for business. Shoppers look for the highest quality and the lowest prices. Bargaining is expected, but so is attentive customer service. Sellers are willing to shave off in favor of the customer to close the deal.

There are no live animals being slaughtered in this wet market, but the meat is fresh and bloody.

One butcher stands apart in the row of stalls because she is using her short height to make the most of her tight space. She stands on a table and maneuvers with precision around the cuts of pork and beef laying at her feet and hanging at her shoulders. She is surrounded by product. It can be slippery and the hooks dangling from the ceiling are sharp.

Her apron is blood stained. Her feet are covered only by socks. The blood soaks through to her skin and it is hard to get off. She wears rubber gloves and white studded earrings. She uses the top of her wrist to push back the hair falling out of her pony tail and across her face. Only occasionally does she have a moment to look up and notice her place in the spectacle.