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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