music beat faster- tried to keep up with us. dim lights chased girls around poles, money from pockets- vodka down ice. we were working, in the broadest sense of the word, and had no time for the two.tall.too.tame men eyeing us from a corner. not clients, not bosses, not useful. there to raise interest, they raised my eyebrow and our ire. bass thrumming through the floor dwarfed by our laughter thrumming through their smiles. ‘the true test of a vodka,’ we said, ‘is how well it mixes with cran.’ like life, it looked better through a thin haze of red. we swallowed our pride with the drink.
|Aran|
Posted on Friday, 5 June 2009
Notes
