Who am I?  That doesn’t matter.  I’m just a dark shadow; a pair of eyes plaguing two sweaty sensual serpents.  They glide across the floor, and spiral into a finishing pose.  They saunter, no, slither up to the bar.

                 Where am I?  It makes no difference.  Maybe it does: a dark hole in the underbelly of a city, a place the tourists will never find and if they did would never enter, a place where even most locals can’t find, or try to avoid.

                 The air hangs humid and hot.  Sweat makes everything sticky, sweet.  A fan rotates above, but doesn’t cool.  The only option is a cold drink.  The two dancers stand at the bar hiding themselves in whispers as the band takes a break to cool.  The ghosts of marijuana and cigarettes hang stagnantly overhead.  The two dancers remain at the bar, now with drinks.  They say quiet words into each other’s ears.  Always the left.  They sip their iced drinks, and the chill cools them to the spine.  Her dress burns a flaring rouge; so does his passion.  Her heels poise her legs just so; or is that his hand?  Her hair hides her sharp face, maybe that’s him whispering again. 

                 The band prepares.  They glide back to the dance floor.  The opening notes make them coil around one another.  They can surely feel the pulsing of their hearts.  I’m afraid they can almost feel mine.  The music continues, this time slow.  The two coil and uncoil as they slide across the floor.  Floating phantoms drifting together; the beat, their essence.  My veins swell and my pupils dilate.  The fine hairs on my neck freeze rigid.  The song finishes with her wrapped around him like prey suffocating, waiting for death, not knowing it’s about to be engorged.  She releases him.  No applause.  They leave the attention of the few spectators, back to the bar. 

                 Stern faced smutty sweet nothings are exchanged.  Deep intimate stares.  Innocent souls igniting in fireworks for all to see.  They have a chemist’s gift, a scientific love.  Silence.  Time stops everything as they make for the exit.

                 Even on the rundown pavement her heels have the nerve to click.  They cry out, Over here, with each sullen step.  His arm holds her tight to his hardening body.  They’re walking to a sultry slummy apartment.  A place of no names, no questions, no answers.  The main door fails to lock behind them.  They continue up the stairs.  No elevator, technology doesn’t exist here.  Stains in the stairwell don’t deter them.  The clicking of her heels on the rotting steps only arouses him more. 

                 Behind a door they prepare for lust, for passion, for everything but love.  She’s already stripping sluttily, her dress slithering off of her smooth skin.  He waits.  He waits for her to strip him, starting with his pants, then he takes off his shirt.  It’s impossible to not notice their sensual stimulation.  A candle flicks their naked shadows against a wall as I peer through the crack left in the bedroom door.  Their shadows combine into a mess of monsters on the wall. 

I reach into my bag.  The knife first, or the duct tape?  Their shadows freeze.  Maybe shrieking.  I’m a dark silhouette for a moment.  Violence!  Fear!  And a little blood.  He did a good job turning her on.