I gyrate like Little Egypt in my haram pants and diaphanous veil.
The lessons with Fatima have paid off.
But it’s the minefield between the restaurant’s bar and the stage.
Barefoot, my limp is even more pronounced.
Last night I watched two cats humping.
One of them was mine. Like me, she’s been in an accident.
Like me, her bum leg makes her an easy target.
Do you have any scars? the manager asks.
No, I lie… worthless.
The tomcat’s claws draw blood when I yank the lovers apart.
Bad girl! I hiss, though it’s not Lily’s fault.
Do you have a drinking problem? Take drugs?
I shake my head.
Like I must be damaged to work here.
I won’t judge you,” the manager promises,
“I’m on everything but roller-skates.”