Anastasia — who agreed to be identified by her confirmation name — started working at Show Follies, a former Times Square pornography emporium. She quickly saw men do things that made her bless herself (“I thought I saw the devil”), but said she eventually got used to it. She learned to like her job, mostly because it was easy and the money was good.

Business has dwindled, but Anastasia’s regulars save her. She has names for them: “Stockings guy — he likes me to wear stockings. I have cigarette guy, who I smoke for. I have tape recorder guy, who I haven’t seen in forever. Him I have to tell stories into a tape recorder.”

During the middle of the day, the busiest hours at the Playpen, unaccompanied men of middle age or better trickle in. They do not browse or peruse but instead walk with purpose, toward a familiar product or toward the booths. Few utter even a word.

“Everyone who comes through the door, they walk in with one thing on their mind, which is sex,” one Playpen employee, a porter, said. “You can’t have a conversation with them. You can’t really talk with them. You lose touch with humanity.”

The porter said his years at the Playpen had taken their toll.

“I came into this business not understanding my behavior and how it affected other people,” he said, referring to problems with sex addiction he had earlier in his life. “And now you get to a point where you’re in so deep that you don’t know how to get out. You just keep trying and you hope for a miracle.”

Anastasia, who is married with children, said: “You can’t really justify doing it anymore. You lie to people. I lie to my kids. I don’t tell people I do this. Back then it was like, yeah, I’m lying, but I’m making money. I don’t care. Now it’s like, why even lie?”

Anastasia is lighthearted by nature, a trait that has buoyed her years behind the glass, and though she is quick to say she is miserable, she sees a bright side.