No one would believe me when I said I saw you. Yet, there you were in front of me, sashaying to and fro in a barely-there garment in front of at least a dozen hollering, half-drunk men, wiggling your ass to a generic, thumping techno beat.
I couldn’t tell if the look on your face was from the high of drugs or the high of the moment. Whichever one it was, you were so completely into it, and it showed.
I heard the predominantly male crowd around me say, more than once, how they relished the opportunity to use you. For a brief, sudden time, the image of one of their sweaty, beer-distended bellies smacking against your spread hips entered into my mind, and I had to resist the urge to choke up my drink.
The show was over sooner than expected, though. One of the nameless brutes I’d glimpsed earlier at the back of the bar had pulled you offstage, much to your chagrin, and the audience’s. There was a smattering of grumbles and curses as you were led somewhere else.
One show may have ended, but another was soon to begin. I took a last sip from my glass, putting it aside as I got up to chase after you.