Talking a trade-off of sleeping sickness for the wealth of new dieseases. They think our lives are a boogie town mix of Boyz In the Hood with Discovery channel, when the fact is, they adore how we live, and anyway, the band has gone wild with music and we've exploded into the aisles. Strobes slice the auditorium, black, silver and white. We pop through the darkness. The air smells of gun powder, nitro, laundromat steam.
Sweat is the catalyst.
I am all over hungry. Carl says, when the time is right, protection's irrelevant. The girl dancing in front of me, half standing, half crouched, knees spread, is pumping her crotch. This morning, we sat next to each other in The Temp Girl wait room. The shoulder pads on our black silk jackets kissed while we figured the odds on a week's worth of work.