Dangerous Youth

I was never afraid of her.
People don’t believe me, especially when I tell them I’ve seen her work.
But I’ve also seen her getting dressed, and she puts her pantyhose on one delicious leg at a time (though her’s come with a seam that can be turned into a garotte, and a lockpick sown into the band).
She got paid an egregious amount of money and that was just fine by me.
When she wasn’t working, we lead a decadent lifestyle.
Sex, drugs, rock and roll.
And when she WAS working, well, sex, drugs, and rock and roll don’t stop just because
she can’t make the scene, too busy with all the badflesh, as she called it.
I worked too, mind you, but only for fun. I went from job to job,
bookstore, lingerie store, museum, whatever caught my eye.
I suppose, in some ways, we never grew up. I mean, we met when I was 23 and she was 19 (and already a pro).
Is that what freedom really is? Never growing up?
What a strange fountain of youth, filled with money and blood.
Sometimes I taste it on her lips.
I highly recommend it.

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