" I think we've gone as far as I'm aware of" How do you feel about dancing?"Who's going to pay to see me dance?" you have a great body, lots of people...would pay"I thought she was k**ding me or somehow plating a joke.She took me to her club the next morning and I watched her and most of the girls I had fucked, perform. I got horny just watching.She brought up the issue again"I didn't see any guys dancing" No, the guys dance at a different club. You know, like Chippendale" Are you serious?"She. It might have been a woman, inaccessible for one reason oranother, married, perhaps. But it just as well might have been a man. OrGod. Or a horse, or a fence-post, or, for that matter, a cantaloupe. Arevisionist literary theorist could write a fairly well-reasoned booksupporting any of those hypotheses, as well as a dozen others equally ifnot more bizarre. "Edgar Birdwell: First Poet Lover ofExtraterrestrials."Marcia could see it on the Hope Crossing library bookshelf now. Ofcourse, like. More

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