Saturday, 10 October 2015

Mood | Slave to the Rhythm

Img Source: Tumblr

She doesn't belong to anything. She's off in her own world. 
She shimmied into a mid length white body con dress. Aubergine stilettos on her feet. Copper brown hair and ox blood lip stain. Everything clashed, just the way she liked it. She popped a large cigar into an Yves Saint Laurent clutch, maybe she'd smoke it. Maybe she'd put it back into the wooden case she had kept it in for the last 5 years. 
Her first stop was Sunset Boulevard. West Hollywood, it had its charm. Alone, she sauntered past the bouncer at the door of a modern club. One eye on the bar, one eye on the dance floor - all eyes on her. 

Drunk on the attention, the drinks that actually followed, she treated as chasers. She sipped distastefully on an olive martini, knowing the music to come would quench her thirst more than the liquor would. But she used the time to observe the crowd: businessmen who came straight from the office to the club - classy. Film directors in black shirts, secretly searching for the next Angelina J. Music producers dripping in oversized and very overpriced jewellery...All eyes on her.

Her body moved in ways a snake couldn't. Eyes shut, hips swaying, ears alert to the rhythmic beating of her own heart. Music was her drug and right now, she was intoxicated. Detached from her emotions, troubled thoughts vanished into thin air. An electric energy flowed through her bloodstream. Slave to the rhythm, the moment was hers. 


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