she is a perpetual motion machine
physics be damned
maybe science wasnt her subject
the impossiblity of her existence is denied three to five times a week , depending on who is playing
as soon as the notes hit the air she is bouncing, swaying and all out jamming to the tune
long, straight, dirty blonde hair on a head that doesnt stop bobbing to the beat and continually swivels, scanning the room for other fun-seekers
when she spots one her face toothily expands in glee and she will boogie on over for a quick hug and kiss
it is a true measue of your status in how she greets you
a squeak is right in the middle of the range
she is constantly squeaking hellos
another reason to hate the oil business as her squeaks are ear heaven
the high end of the scale starts with the hug/kiss combo
followed sinuously by her rubbing her backside against you in a private little dance of pure joy which welcomes you to her party
it is clearly her party
a half shirt exposing the peirced navel in the dead of wiinter tells you of her committment
undeniably one of the sweetest little flowers in this small garden called grape street in manayunk

man i miss seeing this chick
i think she went on to booking bands on south street
she probably now owns an agency or something
maybe she'll hire me
eventually someone will
youd think