pole dancing on the g spot

my eyes still rue the day they observed a robustly proportioned middle-aged man, appropriately inebriated, wearing clothes that maintained a certain distressed look which suggested several prolonged visits to some of the lesser known drinking establishments in the darker corners of the city…

this man, his face endowed with a glistening veneer of five o’clock shadow, long hair that was oily like late summer reeds spoiling in this sun, this man… well, this man rode the subway… he didn’t really ride the subway, he rode the center pole in the subway…

he was pole-dancing in the subway.

pole dancing on the g train. life in new york.

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