I start work at the Bingo!!
Cavernous gloom and flickering fluorescents - green, blue, but most of all pink, pink, PINK. The colour of the members - half a century ago.
I nervously enter, to see a troupe of what look like 10 y/o girls, perfoming dainty dances for the staff and members. Party frocks and polite applause. Bent old ladies sitting, and trousered bulldykes standing, glistening in approval of the proto-pubescent. Wonder what the hell goes through their manly minds. Lesbianism is a condition which utterly eludes me, but The Society of Women is various indeed.
Spotting MargeTheLesbian, I sneak up and scratch her arm gently. "Does that tickle your minge?" I ask, but already knowing the answer. "Magnificat!!" she shrieks, and we cuddle, aware of the sudden diversion. We sit, we smoke, we think about old times, and I wonder what it's going to be like this time around.
The shop is finished, or more accurately, my involvement. Amicable enough parting, honesty unimpugned, but too small a space for too many egos. The universe is expanding - its sole purpose is to go on. To stop would be to shrink. It is unfathomable, and people should give up.
Later, I notice a very appealing young man. "That's Justin," says MargeTheLesbian to me while he goes and attends to some members. "He lost his cherry last week."
"Oh," I say, not wanting to be startled. "Oh. Did he enjoy it?" "Yes," she says. "He loved it."
So Justin rejoins us at the change desk. "You popped your cork last week and you loved it, didn't you Justin?" Marge says - right in front of me. He blushes, sweetly - pinker than the neons. Manly young acne dotted below his blonde hairline. "Yes," the handsome stud agrees, before glancing my way, unfathomably. I smile. I want to convey, "it's all right." We part. We later meet. But that's another day...