An Experiment Of Sorts...
After a normal day, I thought this was an experiment I couldn't pass on. Not sure how it works out, or if it is actually an improvement of my writing, at least I had fun making it.
A Different Dance
She makes long hours, every day over and over again. Of course the pay sucks, but she does what she’s good at and that is enough. At least for her.
Even though she knows that she has to keep her distance from the customers, there is something strange about this man when he comes up to the venue. As he comes closer and inspects the building briefly, he pays one of the bouncers after a brief exchange of friendly words, before striding in. He comes to a grinding halt as the bouncers inside swerve around him, inspecting him, either for illegal substances or concealed weapons, but this gentleman is squeaky clean. They straighten his suit, nod their heads in approval and give the signal for him to step in further.
There is something about him that makes her uneasy; as if she needs to up the stakes at the minute he will lay his eyes on her. And of course he does, as he slowly strides further, paying no attention to the others, only to her.
She smiles briefly and continues her act; he of all people should know she is just a dancer. Surely, if he would ignore all the water, the glitter, the noise from around him, he could see how ordinary she is.
But he doesn’t.
He slowly comes closer, examining her, from head to toe. Then the gears are set in motion, as he allows himself to be immersed in the water that she carries. His suit is drenched in the process, almost becoming like his red skin. Now standing in the water that surrounds them both, the same water she throws around, he begins to dance.
Stunned for a mere second, she quickly finds herself not wanting this to end. Her hands touch him, exploring his skin with her fingertips. She says nothing; the teasing look in her eyes is enough for this moment. His smile is all the confirmation she needs to continue her act with him.
It seems to last forever, but in fact lasts only a matter of minutes before her act is done and she exits stage right, the noise of another customer nearing her as her red dream slowly slides past her, glimpsing back into her eyes before allowing the steam of two vents drying his skin and suit. As the other customer allows himself to be wrapped up by another dancer, who proceeds to do the whole routine instead of allowing herself to enjoy, the red skinned man slowly approaches the stop sign before heading out again into the traffic invested layers of the city that lay before him.
Never again will she dance as she did when he came through the carwash; after all, she is just a fan brush, and cleaning is her everyday thing.