In places where people rub up against each other without ever meeting, where techno music pulsates and urges bodies on, they dance, they weave, they meld in a primordial hydra made up of male bodies.
In the abrupt desire for the other, they are men among themselves, they’re all each other needs. She is the girl, breathtakingly beautiful, left on the sidelines. She slits her wrists with a razor blade in the restroom. Two fine parallel lines that only join in the blood that surges forth. And that’s how this couple meets. She’ll pay him, the man who doesn’t like women, to look at her, as she says, “Where she can’t be looked at.”
