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To Don Winter's previous piece
Strip Bar: Hamtramck Just off I-94 in Hamtramck the goddamn of music was going on. The dancer came out dangling money carelessly. She danced out of her clothes. She looked at my face as if it were a small tip, but Christ she was good, and when she shook her hair loose, beautiful. All her bones floating in milk. Sweetheart, the others called her. Honey. Doll. For each of them she smiled. I envied how she let the backs of their hands linger at the very top of her thigh. When she finally came to me, I stuck a dollar bill where my eyes had been. Her face had the alert sleepiness of a cat's. She smiled vacantly, moved on to the next dollar. I drifted into the night air. The lights on my rig pushed the dark aside, moved me towards no house, towards no one waiting.
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