fourdozeneggs

[fourdozeneggs]

Fragment 1

So buying and converting an old church into a strip-club is already a disheartening state of affairs. Calling it ‘The Burning Bush’ on the other hand, takes a level of crass that I’m very nearly impressed with.

My boss is a slimy piece of work and all, but he certainly got the attention of that KTLA reporter and her camera crew. And he sure used the publicity, with enticing tag-lines like ‘Start Sunday on your knees’. Really put this shithole on the map, enough that he was able to book a couple frat and sorority parties from Cal State in our first two months, and then that bachelorette party that booked the entire VIP platform (messy night- Jeb, our bouncer, still won’t talk about it).

What I’m saying (grudgingly) is, thanks to all that, the the dancers and I can stay busy, and as much as we have our differences, he’s got a weasley cunning about him that translates to money in the till.

He even bought a coffee machine and a pastry tray. Put an A-frame outside in the mornings, advertising takeaway coffee. Turns out there’s a housing complex about two blocks out, a cheap motel in the next lot over, and zero service areas nearby, so we get decent foot traffic. A couple of us on the bar have barista experience, so we take it in turns to open up in the mornings, take our time on prep, and open up the bar for service around midday.

———

If I’m choosing between girls or guys night, I’d choose the guys. Call it a break in monotony.

Yeah, girls nights make more money than guys nights, which means a better tip-out at the end of the night. But the big difference is the energy.

See, on guys night, tables get booked. The women come in groups, and there’s always at least one bachelorette party, minimum. That’s the difference – it’s a party. The DJ announces some semi-blasphemous stage-name like ‘The Bible Stud’, and the audience erupts in hoots and racous cheers. The guy’s onstage always have a lotta energy, they’ll play to the crowd, and, I’ll admit, manage to pull off some pretty sweet pole moves involving upside-down dancers rippling made-up abs, and flawless transitions. Also, purely in terms of entertainment value, for some reason, you always end up hearing wilder, whackier conversations when the bar is full of ladies. Again, maybe since it’s group nights out.

When the dancers are women it’s, well, quieter. More private. The customers are mostly lone guys, hunched over, bit nervous, and you can bet your bottom dollar they don’t applaud the announcements. They don’t want to draw attention to themselves because what they’re really there for a sense of personal connection with a dancer– which means the real money is in the private shows. The stage-show? It’s a couple basics moves, with a few guys huddled around the stage watching pretty much silently.

It’s the little things.

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[fourdozeneggs]

Feather

Have you forgotten? 

It was Spring, and the days came lazy and sinuous 

as we sat by water on tender grass, and fed clambering goslings from a bag of seed,

but could not bear to stroke their down, for fear they would start

and be gone.

And have you forgotten breathless gasps on a Turkish coast, 

when we leapt into icy water at the peak 

of summer in blistering, dusted heat?

I can still taste apple tea, the bite of spice, and charred meat.

And I remember when the days grew colder.

How your fingers felt like ice, no matter how long I held them.

How your eyes fixed across the room as we danced to a rhythm I grew to hate.

How tears felt cold, like glass. 

And your voice broke like the crack of bones in a naked, butchered fowl.

I still hear you in a shard of warm, amber light.

Smell you in the down of this worn scarf.

And taste you like blood in my own mouth.

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