If You Tell Them What They Want

On The Bowery, In The Ornate Carcass Of A Formerly Grand Vaudeville Theater, A Dance Marathon Limps Along. The Contestants, Young Girls And Their Fellas, Hold One Another Up, Determined To Make Their Mark, To Bite Back At The Dreams Sold To Them In Newspaper Advertisements And On The Radio. They Have Sores On Their Feet But Stars In Their Eyes.

But...you Could Have Whatever You Wished." "exactly," He Says, Nuzzling My Neck. "but," I Say, "you Could Turn Stones To Rubies Or Ride In A Fine Gentleman's Carriage." Kartik Puts His Hands On Either Side Of My Face. "to Each His Own Magic," He Says And Kisses Me Again.

There's No Time To Be Modest. Reason Will Not Work Here. Without Warning, I Kiss Kartik. His Lips, Pressed Firmly Against Mine, Are A Surprise. They Are Warm, Light As Breath, Firm As The Give Of A Peach Against My Mouth. A Scent Like Scorched Cinnamon Hangs In The Air, But I'm Not Falling Into Any Vision. It's His Smell In Me. A Smell That Makes My Stomach Drop Through My Feet. A Smell That Pushes All Thought Out Of My Head And Replaces It With An Overpowering Hunger For More.

I'm An Oddity Of One, My Strangeness Too Complicated To Explain Or Share.

Evie Replied With An Eye-roll. “do You Think You Can Manage To Not Steal Anything While I’m Gone?” “the Only Thing I’m Trying To Steal Is Your Heart, Doll.” Sam Smirked. “you’re Not That Talented A Thief, Sam Lloyd.