"And coming up next is Rose, stand by, Rose," shouted the DJ from the booth. Languorously, like a cat stretching from a nap, I slid by body down and off the customer one last time. "Thank you for the dances," he murmured, reaching for his wallet. "You're most certainly welcome," I replied. I loved this moment, the reaching for the back pocket, pulling out a brown, faded leather wallet, stuffed with cash and credit cards. I relished the opening of this vessel of identity and funds, unfolding down the center like a book. He took out five twenties, and I tucked them into my Crown Royal bag, which was already stuffed with my stage tips. "Thank you very much. Please come back and see me." I trailed my hand down his chest, drawing an invisible heart with my finger. "Of course," he said. He stood up, adjusted himself, and walked toward the exit, while I sauntered my way to the stage. As I stepped on, I felt the return of the demented courage I felt the first time I danced. I was
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