‘you can keep it,’ we said with our coy smiles, the men seated to the right of the stage. they weren’t paying us—or anyone else at the club, for that matter—so we had no reason to be kind. they looked like they fell out of vegas, half-sleeze half-money. they assured us, ‘it’s different,’ and we laughed again, hips swaying as we walked away from the ice luge. ‘nothing is better than Ketel,’ we’d told those vodka promoters. we had to drink our words.
[Mayday]