the heat and humidity dissipated off her aura as she walked. life got a little cooler. she came headlong out of the past leaving a fiery trail of resentments in her wake. her locks were red at the ends. this was the only clue towards where she had been.
he followed her. followed her red locks falling into spirals around her face. this was not where he was to go, really, but something about her called to him and he followed. ditching his plans was not an uncommon experience for him. this is why they would ultimately look to him for wisdom. they just did not yet understand him, nobody.
she was not of academic persuasion, you could tell by the way she walked. she taught a pole dancing class at the local gym. she did not learn herself to pole dance in a classroom. unless you call a strip club a classroom.
he was existentialized, intellectualized, atheist, laser sharp. he knew one too many computer languages and kept them to himself. he engineered dramas like alzheimers patients work crossword puzzles. for survival. the most recent drama was an ex-girlfriend who still burned in his memory. he told everyone who cared to listen about it. she stole his music and made it her own. she dumped him. and there was no intellectual way of breaking any of it down.
He followed her and her aura dropping heat and humidity (like a trail for him) because he was so stuck and still in love, and she looked like someone who might untie his shoelaces for him so he could take off the old dramas, discard them and move on quite lighter.
only a pole dancer who learned poles that only swung the pretty young ladies who only came for a job because they werent qualified or interested in any other preoccupation, only this kind of genuine article could help him out of the mess of his mind.
or so he thought as he followed her trails.
meanwhile she was thinking fondly of her students and of herself and paying little to no attention to the footsteps behind her. she even laughed out loud when she contemplated Nancy turn at the pole, which had the unfortunate outcome of her being half naked in class, whereby the audience held silent in natural opposition to the men she knew behind those red locks who drank whiskey rocks in the dark of every club every day, tipping the bartender alternately with grubby handed g-string improprieties of touch.
yet all the same glassy eyed reveries of forefingers behind g-string flapping dollar bills. lots of dirt in this good, clean supposed fun. for some it was the only light they found in that dark place, worlds long since crashed down. alcoholics at late stages. recently released from prison cages. home lives consumed in fiery rages. regrets one forgets.
he knew he was chasing this in her, too. he knew she had been there. maybe it was the way she walked with a certain kind of confident resignation. maybe it was the little gems he picked up left behind by her aura. he saw her through the waves and non-waves of her physics. he thought his expectations were harmless.
he had alot to learn from her. if he ever met her.
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