A nonsense fiction story about a showgirl.
Her music doesn’t explain her altogether. A showgirl? A dancer in a chorus line. A musician. A bit unconventional anyway. Perhaps she plays the violin. Gold and brass earrings.
He likes his women unconventional, a bit racy.
Ambivalent rhythms, the music. In Vegas, she could be a dancer in a chorus line. She could be a Sonjo tribeswoman.
He likes his women unconventional, a bit racy.
In Vegas, he eats a submarine sandwich.
She has her violin case. What is she doing in Vegas playing violin?
She could be a showgirl, in a chorus line.
A violin player?
He likes his women unconventional, a bit racy.
A maybe she’s too young for him, perhaps.
In Vegas, a showgirl with a violin.
Music is obsessive.
Obsessive about music.
He can tell she’s not a tourist. A resident perhaps.
Vegas is just an ordinary town.
Vegas.
Showgirl.
Violin.
He likes his women unconventional, a bit racy.
She’s rather an ordinary, young, girl, with violin.
This could be the tropics.
Anyway, he likes rock “n” roll.
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