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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:19:02 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 4186
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Strip Club
[time] => 2002-09-23 21:20:00
[hometext] => Not as taboo as the name might imply. This is a comment on something that I noticed one day, a story about a strip club.
[bodytext] => They come in and out,
staring and leaving. Staring and leaving. I have no face to them. That’s fine. They have no face to me either. Let them look me in the eye. Let them see my scowls and my pain. This is what I do to survive. I dance. I shake. They stare all they want. I get a dollar and move on to the next customer. It’s horrid, horrid, horrid, and I get a dollar. Sometimes, the outside isn’t personal enough for them though, and they want to get to know me better. When that happens, we go. I shake for only them. They stare at only me. I get ten dollars for that. I wonder how much they would pay me for a conversation. Nothing probably. There are only four things that I have to offer society, and they’re all attached. At least I’m making money. At least I’m living. That’s all that matters, right? [comments] => 2 [counter] => 189 [topic] => 8 [informant] => Butterat_Zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AmericanTragedy )
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