I leaned on the bar, the music was booming. “What am I doing here, I hate clubs.” But still a night out was a night out and there was money to be made. I ordered another one and looked around for a free table, tired of the stools. Not in the mood for dancing. Never in the mood.
A girl, what was she? Sixteen? She wishes. She got near me and started dancing. Going “you like what you see?” And I was cool and did not care. Only I did care because she was too fucking young to be ravaged by some cokehead douchebag. I cared so much I thought in words like ravaged and maiden. Well, maybe not maiden, but she was something all right. Something else.
She swung her head, made it pivot on an invisible axis, her hair all over her face, her hair flying in the air, the music was a rage. She did not look at me, her eyes were closed. She was letting herself get carried away. Only a girl this age knows how to. Finally, I walked up and danced with her before some idiot did. We danced and danced.
She had this thing in her face. It was like summer when you are fourteen and all there is to do is make the day longer and longer so September never comes.
When she was tired, I thought I could take her to my car and take her softly, like she deserved, but she scuttled off. I was not her type or something. Fuck that! Fat Paulie arrived with the Russians. There was money to be made.