Porcelain

“I’m glad we didn’t have sex, Moby,” she said quietly in the dark.

“Me too, Janet. Good night.”

I stood there, staggering and dancing in my own semen, surrounded by hundreds of incarnations of Stevie Nicks. I tried not to bump into them, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed this, being surrounded and supported by all these beautiful Stevies. I closed my eyes and danced, feeling the bodies around me, hearing another Fleetwood Mac song playing while the transsexual Stevies sang along.

The dance scene had always been about the new, and I was no longer new.