The DJ asked everyone at the bar to give a big round of applause. Nobody did. Nobody ever does. One after another the girls trudge down the spiral staircase, take off their clothes, pretend to dance, and when the song is over the girls go around the bar to collect tips. I don’t feel like clapping either.
I guess it doesn’t matter if the girls dance or not. She’ll get the same dollar, which is probably why almost none of them ever dances, even though they call themselves dancers. At least they all strip, but none of them want to be called strippers.
Fasalina proves why the other girls don’t bother. When Fasalina is on the pole, it’s like watching an artist. Jaw dropping, erotic, and beautiful, she shakes the place out of the coma it’s in, blood remembers how to flow, but there is no big round of applause. Sometimes I wonder what the fuck people like her are doing here. She should be somewhere else.
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