Claymoore plays drag the ‘njin red burn through the rough and tangle dance floor. Its loud in here. He sweats a little more and searches out Austrias. She leans to a railing thinking cowboys are a rude ride.
He forgets and pumps his head cooler than an ice sweat rock smoker trippn’ on X. Those guys don’t know shit about music and their chics are ugly too. Austrias lets her wrists hang from her forearms resting on the railing. Claymoore wants to find her like he did four months ago when she walked by him casually letting her glance round the edges of her cheekbones and let the corners of her mouth dimple. She passed in slow motion. It took three and a half months just to gather enough nerve to speak to her.