Thirty suns have scaled the sky.
For Reggie Lauderdale and Elmer Mott, growth is brimming. New smiles. New laughter. I watch as they mix countless cocktails, dance barefoot and scribble more autographs.
I see the dolls glide like couture ghosts. I see Laurie Fooz chatter amid lungful’s of cigarette smoke. I see Nell profit from the sale of her fancy drinks. I see Reverend Rockwell applaud the spin of another funk anthem.
This shoestring carnival flares for days on end. Recipes and truths are the hub of their happiness. I delight in watching them all feel good.
goodThree more parties pass.
Vodka.
Handshakes.
Ash.
Someone wearing a motorbike helmet.
Sopping coasters.
A new recipe.
Gin.
More dance anthems
Vermouth.
Hope.
Someone wearing a ski mask.
Joy.
Another muddied floor.
