Whatsapp I walked past the stage and sat down at the bar, the neon lights illuminating my pink teddy, shadowed eyes, and crimson lips. I ordered my first drink of the night and took inventory of the club. There were a few listless customers scattered around, hunching over bar stools, and a dancer circling the pole. I waved over a colleague, a transplant from Manchester with hair extensions that kissed her velvet garter belt.
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The kitchen floor was obscured by dancing black dots. We will write a custom essay sample on Night World: As she straightened up, she saw James in front ofher. His face was almost expressionless, but Poppy knew him well enough to recognize the worry in hiseyes.
He was holding the milk carton, she realized.
He must have caught it on the fly as she droppedit—amazing reflexes, Poppy thought vaguely. Phillip was on his feet. Theway to deal with the pain was to ignore it, to notthink about it. You know, something I ate. Is this the same kind of pain?
As a matter offact, the pain had never really gone away. She gavePoppy a little squeeze and headed for the kitchen telephone. I want him to take a look at you. She beckoned to James, who was looking thoughtfully into a middle distance.
Phillip followed them into the hallway. As if James cared about seeing her undressed. If only,she thought grimly, pulling a pair of shortsout of a drawer.
She stepped into them, still shaking her head. James was her best friend, her very bestfriend, and she was his. Sometimes she wondered if he realized she was a girl. James came in and smiled at her. It was a smile other people rarely saw, not a taunting or ironic grin, but a nice little smile, slightly crooked.
This has been going on way too long. But sometimes James just knewthings. As if he could read her mind. He unwrapped the CD. Poppy shrugged and flopped on her bed, staring atthe ceiling.
She craned her neckto look at James speculatively. Sheand James both liked trance-the underground electronic sound that had come from Europe.
James likedthe techno beat. Poppy loved it because it was real music, raw and unpasteurized, made by people who believed in it. People who had the passion, not people who had the money. Besides, world music made her feel a part of otherplaces. She loved the differentness of it, the alienness.
Come to think of it, maybe that was what she likedabout James, too. She tilted her head to look at him as the strange rhythms of Burundi drumming filled the air. She knew James better than anyone, but there wasalways something, something about him that was closed off to her.
Something about him that nobody could reach.Haworth designs and manufactures product solutions that help you create inspiring spaces where people can perform their best—at work, on the go, and at home.
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