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Her eyelashes unraveled like a crowd at a hip-hop concert where you were uncertain on how the concert would end, it could be a hyped night or it could end in tragedy. She was more the allure than the danger and she danced in crimson light, always in the shadows and never letting the world see her true self.
But she would look at me and I knew that she was with me, or least I thought I did. She was neurological, like a mixer should had every chemical that moved me pushed to its limit. I was transported to a time when I counted the time between the ringing of the bells to reach my next class:
When I wrote notes before the Internet and I had to stand by the phone while I talked long enough to reach my bedtime.
But this conversation could all be for nothing if I am looking for love in a strip club.
