Re: Third class hallways
Vaudeville is tarnished. It’s jazz played to a crowd dancing on sticky floors, and her eyes are glinting like the glass beads, mottled flush ugly on sharp cheekbones. “So complimentary,” she says, airy as a quick-step to the Charleston. It makes her wonder just how bad it is, and one lily-white hand snakes between her own knees, extracts a limp handkerchief from the top of her stocking. She tosses her head and she dabbles more ash on the floor - on the floor this time, next to the toe of one of those ugly brown shoes and looks immediately self-satisfied at rebellion couched in small terms.
“What about me inspired decency?” She blows a thin spiral of dove colored smoke at the ceiling and arches blade-thin hips back against the wall. The beads titter, the gold lariat whispers through her fingers, twines. Grass-green eyes linger on unimpressive plaid. “Are you a girl scout?”