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Sala

He’s not staring, not exactly, just watching. Sala’s rolling and he looks like money, so she pulls a girlfriend over and they get all hot up against the wall. She locks eyes with him just once, for one long second.

Later he’s gone, but she follows the music down to the next frat. He’s there. This time she leaves, and he finds her arched between oblivious boys. The bass blurs everything in 4/4 time.

They slip between houses in turns, dancing with everyone, dancing only with each other. It’s an old, old game: She likes to move. He likes to watch.

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