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I.

            White steel ceiling fan twirls on the ceiling, clearing my thoughts, my energy, my aura. Twisted red, gold, green with flecks of sparkly silver drapes, then tacks to the ceiling, then drapes, then tacks to the ceiling, then drapes, then tacks, two pillars with a medium-size cactus in a clay pot at the bottom of stairs block my view.

Bright red lights drape and tack the same way. Blue, red and green lights frame the left and the top of the door. Small silver strobe balls hang from the ceiling, no one dances, the patio is filled with diners and the bar has its drinkers laughing at each other’s jokes. Blues music plays in the background after I finish eating the sautéed shrimp on cornbread and a piece of dinner bread with humus. I think I shall have another piece.

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