The Greek restaurant out of London – it is here I must speak to a stranger. This room is full of excited girls with curled hair and brave, stiff dresses. They side step on the dancefloor, clap clap, eyes wild and frightened. I ask you about the bill and you look to me hatefully, angry for my asking. You have thick fingers, a small nose and a hollow mouth that won’t look at the customers who are shrieking at the Michael Jackson impersonator behind us. You are gloomy but, at their lot, some must despair for others to celebrate with gratefulness.
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