We are Night of Joy.

My lines are sore. The weak head in charge led me to believe this business was casual. But there's nothing casual about discrepancies in clothing removal, or dressers full of stains from the previous night/girl/fatality/fantasy, or the length of his feelings. Drag feet to carpet, press palms down, and to knees to touch. Arch your back in cat pose. ( Read more... )

Head down, my hands press into the sticky pages of The September Issue. My eyes are secret, scanning the hard, plastic bench seat running the length of the train car. Her thigh hits my vision. Her imperfect thigh. Tallish, thinnish, with black eyeliner and boots. Symmetry and parallel lines, her skinny frame hides her imperfect thighs. I trade ( Read more... )

You know when you just have to go? Things are good, your friends are there, the music is alright and you find yourself sitting in a giant tee pee watching everybody smoke weed but you, and the night and the air are close to perfect. You danced a little, hugged a little, talked a little, made some more of those last connections with the friends ( Read more... )