‘There’s an accident every week on this damn street. I swear, I think the neon lights blind the drivers.’ I’m forced to adjust to the uneven ...idewalks, littered with scrapped tabloids and trampled worms. A wall of bright boutiques stretches into an intersection where men wearing helmets ravage the pavement with brutal implements. Deafening typewriter taps and a steady metallic roar fills the air. Grotesque blades slice through layers of roadway, previously traveled on by maintenance. She didn't care. She was free, free of shame, free of modesty, free of everything, everything but the need to dance, the need to revel in her opportunity to express herself with the most stimulated release of passion and emotion. She jumped to her feet, pulled her arms out to her sides, pulling them back, forcing her to thrust out her chest like a sprinter crossing a finish line, enjoying the way her tits shock and bounced in reaction to her movements. Her arms came back to her body, this time. More

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