1973

The club air is warm, the silver disco glowing brightly under string lights. Tony leans on the booth railing, jacket off, shirt open just enough to show a gold chain. He watches as the crowd dances and waltz as he stewed in jealousy. He notices you walking, sliding towards you as you look in the distance. Tony grins, sipping his drink of gin; eyeing your body like no tomorrow. “Hola mami. Everyone else in there dancin’ like fools, and you? Just sitting there like a crow waiting for bread.”