company. Most of the men were seated, their eyes glued to an
empty stage. Some milled about the bar. A tall man in the distance caught my eye. He had something tattooed on his knuckles and a grey streak running through the entire length of his hair like a
well groomed skunk. I raised my glass and he nodded once towards me. I nodded back. He turned slowly, maintaining me in his gaze, and headed towards the edge of the room.
I stood up and followed him all the way until he disappeared behind a creaking door. I hesitated for a moment and then entered.
The men’s bathroom was empty and filthy. A warm musk filled the air and made everything illicit and irresistible. He stood alone in an open cubicle. I followed him inside and he locked the
door.
I suppose when following strangers into public restrooms a person wants one of two things. I wanted the second. And within minutes that sweet, metallic smoke was coursing through my veins;
lifting me to a place that felt the same yet different. A place where it didn’t matter that I was alone, or that I had no idea who I was or what exactly I was doing. All I can say is that
whilst not an experience I plan on repeating, for that night only I felt like myself for the first time in I don’t know how long as I watched its magnetic dregs weep from my mouth towards the
ceiling like tears in reverse.
We remained wordless throughout. He began by pulling a small cloth bag from his pocket and opening it onto the ceramic of the cistern, carefully arranging his apparatus like a practiced
apothecary. He placed the rocks in the base of a long transparent tube, those filthy fingernails working the priceless jewels with more care than I’d ever seen a man of his size demonstrate.
Finally, when he felt the arrangement complete, he lit it with a golden click of a lighter. He took a hit and handed it to me. I followed his lead and took a small breath and then a deep one before
handing it back to him.
I slid down, dazed and blissful, as he packed his belongings and opened the door.
“Sweet dreams my little doll,” he said, kissing me once as he left me reeling on the cold tile floor.
I did stay and watch for a while, Jonah. I was hypnotised. We sat transfixed by the movement of the bodies. Even the burliest men sat in rapture, like children being told their
first story. Behind the main stage, where the curtains were white to reflect the changing lights, you could occasionally catch the shadowy outline of a grand figure of flailing arms and billowing
skirts, hugging and changing the girls, ready for their next set piece.
Without prejudice I can say that Eve was the finest dancer I’ve ever seen in my life.
Some girls up there danced for money, others for sex, and most for attention. Eve danced for her life and she danced her life entirely. Each movement felt charged, like a choir’s
crescendo, that gave her the fallibility and grace, which the other girls lacked. Part of me fell in love with her that night. And all of me wanted to return to the den. The beating glow in the
darkest corner of my hometown, like a secret spot that only I knew existed.
I walked back home that night reeling beneath the stars. With the joy of knowing that something was happening though I didn’t quite know what.
With love and longing,
Verity
Dear Verity,
I begin by clearing out the detritus ignored by the previous God knows how many inhabitants. This in itself is a task worthy of reward. Sacks of hardening cement weigh down
piles and piles of leaves and dirt, inside of which sodden paper and pieces of broken tools have amalgamated with various fluids and the occasional remnants of a decayed rodent. Even on the edge of
my longest shovel it takes every ounce of strength I have not to gag when I exhume its stench.
It was Saturday morning, and I awoke with a start, sure that I was late for something before remembering that relaxation was now rationed, and as such it was my duty to make the most
empty stage. Some milled about the bar. A tall man in the distance caught my eye. He had something tattooed on his knuckles and a grey streak running through the entire length of his hair like a
well groomed skunk. I raised my glass and he nodded once towards me. I nodded back. He turned slowly, maintaining me in his gaze, and headed towards the edge of the room.
I stood up and followed him all the way until he disappeared behind a creaking door. I hesitated for a moment and then entered.
The men’s bathroom was empty and filthy. A warm musk filled the air and made everything illicit and irresistible. He stood alone in an open cubicle. I followed him inside and he locked the
door.
I suppose when following strangers into public restrooms a person wants one of two things. I wanted the second. And within minutes that sweet, metallic smoke was coursing through my veins;
lifting me to a place that felt the same yet different. A place where it didn’t matter that I was alone, or that I had no idea who I was or what exactly I was doing. All I can say is that
whilst not an experience I plan on repeating, for that night only I felt like myself for the first time in I don’t know how long as I watched its magnetic dregs weep from my mouth towards the
ceiling like tears in reverse.
We remained wordless throughout. He began by pulling a small cloth bag from his pocket and opening it onto the ceramic of the cistern, carefully arranging his apparatus like a practiced
apothecary. He placed the rocks in the base of a long transparent tube, those filthy fingernails working the priceless jewels with more care than I’d ever seen a man of his size demonstrate.
Finally, when he felt the arrangement complete, he lit it with a golden click of a lighter. He took a hit and handed it to me. I followed his lead and took a small breath and then a deep one before
handing it back to him.
I slid down, dazed and blissful, as he packed his belongings and opened the door.
“Sweet dreams my little doll,” he said, kissing me once as he left me reeling on the cold tile floor.
I did stay and watch for a while, Jonah. I was hypnotised. We sat transfixed by the movement of the bodies. Even the burliest men sat in rapture, like children being told their
first story. Behind the main stage, where the curtains were white to reflect the changing lights, you could occasionally catch the shadowy outline of a grand figure of flailing arms and billowing
skirts, hugging and changing the girls, ready for their next set piece.
Without prejudice I can say that Eve was the finest dancer I’ve ever seen in my life.
Some girls up there danced for money, others for sex, and most for attention. Eve danced for her life and she danced her life entirely. Each movement felt charged, like a choir’s
crescendo, that gave her the fallibility and grace, which the other girls lacked. Part of me fell in love with her that night. And all of me wanted to return to the den. The beating glow in the
darkest corner of my hometown, like a secret spot that only I knew existed.
I walked back home that night reeling beneath the stars. With the joy of knowing that something was happening though I didn’t quite know what.
With love and longing,
Verity
Dear Verity,
I begin by clearing out the detritus ignored by the previous God knows how many inhabitants. This in itself is a task worthy of reward. Sacks of hardening cement weigh down
piles and piles of leaves and dirt, inside of which sodden paper and pieces of broken tools have amalgamated with various fluids and the occasional remnants of a decayed rodent. Even on the edge of
my longest shovel it takes every ounce of strength I have not to gag when I exhume its stench.
It was Saturday morning, and I awoke with a start, sure that I was late for something before remembering that relaxation was now rationed, and as such it was my duty to make the most
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