All around, there was talk of a new world and old things burning. They made love, and fucked the police! Ah. It was time they joined the dance...An ex...lusive performance for you tonight, by the swinging coppers. They came in costume, with boots and leather. They just loved to play with batons and plexiglas shields.The youngest ran to the front and fell to the scythe. Old story. Against the tide of chaos, the plexi dyke held firm and mean. Their bad smiles were full of fear.Grenades flew, shiny. Callie wasn’t as antagonistic towards me. She actually started chatting and playfully chiding me when I didn’t chat back with her: “It doesn’t damage your masculinity to talk, Lightfoot!” She lost none of her pig-headedness, though. We did what she wanted, when she wanted, and I was expected to accommodate her.We slipped into an easy routine.On Sunday, I was treated to a dance recital.Pink Floyd music flowed rhythmically and seductively over the audience. On stage, student dancers from early. How dare he play games with me! What the fuck! My jaw clenched. My throat closed up. So angry. So angry. I gave him the finger.I left hm there, mouth open. At least I had that. I ripped the door to my car open, threw myself in and rolled down my window to yell at him. I wanted it all to rush out, how bad he should feel for getting off on playing with my head, treating me badly.He thrust out both of his hands. He was holding a small bag. Tiny handles on it. He didn't say anything. Just held it. "The four of them left the speakeasy together, but outside on the sidewalk the two couples broke apart and said goodby."Be nice to my girlfriend," Ethel said to Fred with amusement in her voice."Don't worry, I will," Fred said.Marjorie quivered as Fred's hand casually dropped to stroke her buttocks through her thin summer dress. Oh God, what am I doing? she thought."Where are we going?" she said.Fred shrugged. "What about my place?" And where's that?" Up in Yorkville. You don't mind, do.
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