music croons through the humid louisiana air, old dilapidated brick that holds siren's call together thrumming with the soft sounds of florida kilos. neon sign legs prance on the side of the building performing their song and dance to the drum of cicadas and so does angel, lithe curves and candied lines dotting along to the beat. it's a languid night, business days like this made purely for wanderers and lost souls, their comfort found best at the bottom of a bottle and with fantasies of an imagined lover. she knows she won't make much from them, no, patrons like this rather look, watch: its the weekends that are for the big fish ⎯ but rent is due no matter the day, so she finds herself here, little money she has made held carefully in hands, crumpled dollar bills hoarded like diamonds. she tucks the money into her bag now, trades her change for a pack of malboro reds and a jacket. she's due for a break, for a second away from eager hands and empty coffers and long is tucked between her lips, little wave to the house mother given to let her know she'll be right back. the back door clanks as she pushes it open and the warm breeze kisses her before it hits. a part of her is tempted to go home. lord know there won't be anything else happening tonight, not inside those doors anyways. and maybe that's why she smiles when she sees them, hour far too pregnant for their walk to be just that. "don't you know not to wander this late?" she sucks softly as her lighter is pressed to the tip. "time a night where bad things are bound to happen." tease is made apparent in how she chuckles, eyes alight with mischief.
