FLY

Nightclubs aren’t his scene but he’s in the middle of the dance-floor tossing his hips from side to side, staring into a single disco ball. Short skirts flirt around him, reflections of light dance above him; play out the scene below.

A short skirt places a pill on her tongue, come fly with me, kisses him. The roughness of the three small letters on his tongue, follows short skirt, on the headland, come fly with me: one, two, three, she flies, he stumbles, falls on his back.

An orange lamp. Orange light. Dances before him. Plays out the scene below.

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