Chaser

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday. The little place in the country, the one still standing despite years of bands and hardwood dance floor abuse from men dancing with men, twirling actually with drunk men, completely heterosexual mind you, but just wildly letting themselves feel the base and spin at the same pace as the brain after a few hours of brandy old fashioneds downed between sets.

There’s a steady stream of locals and newbies, and very little reinvestment into the place as evidenced by the one stall bathroom and the lack of a decent top rail scotch. Still, it’s a good place for dancing and a great place for not having to talk due to the volume and a spot with a $5 cover is frankly, hard as fuck to come by these days.

Linda, she’s a blonde with a history that she can’t defend but recognizes that she’s not perfect either and she brings along the latest add to her crowd. She loves to dress up, has on a spaghetti strapped sequined black top and her best elastic fabric white jeans and at my request, strappy sandals that just barely emerged from the car before removing the toe spacers they supply at the local nail salon. She is so grateful she noticed and pulled the from her toes before she walked up to pay her $5 cover.

I’m behind Linda. I’ve got a grey leather jacket without a wallet. i need to exit and return with my id and my cash. I do so. I pay my way in, walk to the bar and order a blueberry vodka press for my friend and a corona with lime for myself.  $14 later plus a goddamn tip and I’m across the room waiting for a chance to dance.

Linda is the dancing kind. She knows the words. She knows the breaks and when to stop dancing. She knows the songs, and has a reference due to her good friend’s escapades in the past, she knows he will stop being a coherent fun tag-along, she knows she’ll have to babysit the drunken fucktard until she acknowledges she does dance, does it well, and does not need to make anyone happy.

Yes. She has to buy her own drinks. But it is worth it. No putting out for guilt. Instead, she puts out that she is turned on and capable of bringing the same. 

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# for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.

 

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