At the Strip Club

We sat in the back, where she used to write poetry about the girls that came onstage. They would be drawn to her, a safe respite from the Guidos and whey faced college boys that they dealt with most of the night. She regarded each with the critical appraisal of a filthy old man. What about that one? Please, they have fake names. One girl's tramp stamp triggered her. So intricate. She's beautiful, but she looks like a scared little girl. She can't dance with those shoes. The girl came offstage and informed her that she recognized her. Oh you might have seen me in here years ago. No, in the party scene, I knew you didn't I? She said her name in a way that made her blink and shake. I thought I recognized you, I just- Yeah! Well how have you been? I just got married, yeah. A new song started. So would you like a dance? She nodded. I moved to one side for her and she had her part her legs so she could sit on her lap. A gyration, a glistening torso inches from the face. She shuddered. I appraised them both with a new eye. Something old was being unearthed behind her eyes. The song was short and she got a kiss on the cheek from the girl, who told her she would be by later. An aggressive girl took us into the private booth.