Rising up from my kneeling squat, boots finally tied, I dropped my hula hoops onto the platform, then set one thigh-high boot at a time inside the circles. Jutting a white-sequined hip, I waited for the music to build to that explosion of bass and high-pitched alarms that had been driving me deaf the past two months. Yet, I couldn’t say I hated the job. I’d tried different settings, but this was definitely the best fishing spot. The catch I was after liked the nightlife and large crowds.
And this club was packed to the gills. Good. Better pickins. I bent with deliberate flare, popping my ass into the air and giving it a shake as I scooped up one of the glowing hoops and spun it around my hips. I gyrated and dipped, swinging the hoop higher around my exposed midsection, my arms swaying to the music. I didn’t have to think about my next move. It poured out of me like the music from the DJ’s hands. I turned in lazy circles, taking in the jumping crowd as one living, breathing beast.
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