The night was winding dangerously towards last call. We were all slipping deeper into the fantasy. Jonni Rendi (pictured above) and I were up in the Fudgepacker Lounge at the F Word visiting with the fantastical Sherry Vine (pictured below).
I'm not sure what Sherry was playing. I don't even remember taking these pictures. So, I'm sure that we were having a consequential conversation about metaphysics--until something, someone, caught Rendi's eye.
She sat down to concentrate on this dancer vision consuming her, enrapturing her so.
She waited for him to come hither. He did--and knew how to oblige a lady.
He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, recited his favorite Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud poems.
Then, the lap dance--la danse contact, as he called it--could commence.
Because Rendi is a liberated lady, she knows it's important to both give and receive.
They took that spirit of reciprocity to the dance floor. I'm not sure how they said goodbye. I soon stumbled out the door.
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