“I have a show tonight,” she says. “The neon waits for no one.”
“You built things,” he says.
Every man in the room stops drinking. Every woman stops checking her phone. For four minutes, there is only Fiona—the arc of her arm, the tilt of her chin, the way she seems to be wrestling with an angel made of light. Ladyboy Fiona
It is not a dance. It is a reckoning .