Armani Disco

“It’s Armani,” he offered up weakly.

The girl raised her eyebrows. “What’s your name? I’m Ashley.”

“Joss.” They shook hands, and Joss suddenly thought that he hadn’t shaken someone’s hand in a while. The cool thing to do nowadays seemed to be a disconnected little wave in which one’s arm moved only from the elbow down, pulled in close to the body and not welcoming at all.

“Do you want to help me find something?” Ashley said, still holding Joss’s hand.

“What?” Joss let his hand go limp but Ashley kept holding it.

“I want to go to a disco,” she grinned, bearing long, white teeth like a dog’s.

Joss blinked.

Ashley waited patiently for an answer.

“Me too,” said Joss finally.

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