Drunk, I staggered down a Tijuana alleyway. A moon bent like a finger nail clipping lit my way. I watched a mangy brown puppy eating old tacos from a tipped garbage can as I dragged my tired feet back towards the U.S. border. I had just been drinking, laughing and dancing with friends at one of our favorite bars when that familiar anxiety came over me. I had to leave. I told everyone I was taking a taxi back to the border, but I had something else in mind.
She caught a man from across the room; her sticky-eyes cooed him behind the black velvet curtain. Her mind wandered as she rhythmically rocked her body on his excited lap. When Continue reading
The professional dancer went to mass on Sundays, and always tithed her ten percent. She knew all the saints by name; each had their own special prayer. When she lost her keys, Continue reading
On her dressing room mirror she taped a portrait of Marilyn, inscribed with one of her quotes, “The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up.” When the dancer walked on stage, Continue reading
When asked her occupation, she would say “professional dancer,” she preferred the ambiguity and it was far more respectable than “stripper.” Continue reading