You leave immediately prior to your morning routines, making your way to work with the quickest possible efficiency, as to catch up with Roxy as soon as possible. The normal route to your job never seemed to take as long as it took today; you spent your morning worrying about Roxy and why she could have just ditched you like that, you should have known better!
When you enter the club that evening you barrel through the entrance, craning your head around to search the room of the familiar stripper who comes there every night: Roxy. You approach the bartender, a familiar face that you’ve checked in on multiple times this week.
“Evening Charles.” You say to him, the neatly pressed suit he wears rustles, as his attention is now occupied by your presence.
“Evening..” he replies quietly, not trying to speak out of turn.
“Have you seen Roxy?” The bartender looks as you confused, he clutches a sparkling glass in his hand, a work out rag in the other hand, turning the glass over to clean it. You pound your hands on the table, intimidating your servent as your booming voice shakes some of the furniture in the room. “Roxy!... Roxy.. The girl who works here. You know… the uhh… dancer.” your voice lowers, looking around at the filled room, now setting their sights on your rowdy behaviour.
The bartender’s now slinking behind his bar, submissively. His eyes lowered glances at you, before glancing over towards the wall of the bar. Your eyes meet his; guilt. A look that seems familiar to you. The bartender then looks over at the opposite side of the bar, directed towards the stage of the establishment.
Your gaze follows the gaze of your worker. You find Roxy on stage once again, performing, racking up her money’s worth of a paycheck from the floor of the stage. That doesn’t stop you from approaching her during her break and having a conversation about the whole situation.
Upon having a long deep talk with the woman, you’ve come to realize that your conversation with Roxy made you reconsider the entire emotional standpoint and call this a fair trade, deciding to search her closet for a set of new clothes as to make up for the infection of migratory crabs.
She slithers through her high rise condominium, leading you past wall-sized glass windows. A large wooden double door lies just within the threshold of her master bedroom, in the near distance you can see the master bed laid directly in the middle of the floor, taking up the majority of the space in the center of the room.
Your eyes shift forward to meet the enormous doors of the walk-in closet. The walls are lined2 with various hues, saturations, and values of outfits, a multitude of different styles meant to be lazily or pristinely juxtaposed atop one another to create the daily dress-up routine of your local hooker.
Various textures, materials, and styles of clothesline the walls, cut deep underneath hanging shelves along the walls of the closet. Those too were stuffed full of boxes, fur lined clothing, accessories, hat boxes, and much more. The
Written by Driftingdragon on 02 January 2020
The end (for now)