Apr 12, 2006 05:28
recalled this morning from when I used to frequent this downtown strip club.
Strange the creepshows that linger upon waking.
...I walked in and stopped and let the conservatory mist of Captain Coke latch on and seep into my pores. Acclimation is important when entering a new altitude. I found a table and sat down and legs. Curved ecru calfbones, a starheart here, a gremlin gastroc inked there. Tatoos from the inside out onto likely surfaces and pruned to size 2 bonsai immaculence. Everywhere, I held the drink to my lips. Everywhere the sound of laughing sweat stealing home.
Her name was Rose, the washed of the bunch. She couldn't be an old-timer, I had decided. Her skin was not yet bronzed beyond belief and her smile yet retained the nervous glee of baring it all before strange men, memories of a small town aging with every spreadeagle buck of her ass....