Six short stories about death, #6.
I tilt my chin up high in search of air someone hasn’t just exhaled. The mild oxygen deprivation is part of the appeal. Between a thousand bodies I could be anyone. I am anyone. The who and what, it doesn’t matter here. What we are is dancing.
There above the DJ booth, she swings. Sylvia — like starlight. Her hair tonight is silver. Glittering rhinestones line the…