The dance floor flailed— heaving like a spider web hung heavy with the rhythm of frantic flies.

Opportunistic spiders spin their web’s near the bright lights Matt thought, standing silently stoic, calm and alert. He thought some more. Winslow has the capacity to be venomous. He knocked out that bitch who got pregnant— pleading him to let her quit whoring. He gold plated her two front teeth as a reminder charm for the rest of his workforce hoes. Now she’s eating dog food under the expressway— lucky to be alive. Could he be trusted to patrol the pussy in my newest nightclub… my newborn business?

Beneath blankets of music, alcohol, and simple persuasion, wallets eroded with the empty promise of a lifestyle, of an identity. It’s as if Matt controlled the dress code for his customer’s collective soul. He owned them with the same affection he would own his newborn child. His plan was born. It had fulfilled the infant stage of fruition, and like a father, he couldn’t be more proud of his creation.