As you dance and jive on the stage, the lights shining over you and barely lighting the crowds faces, you see your target or at least you think so. He sits back in his chair with a hand hovering the smirk on his face, pulling at his pants as he readjusts himself. You make eye contact with him during your whole show and he pays you to get a room in the back of the club afterwards. He is still with you when he says, ... You don't have to put on that pitiful act for me, baby.
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