He didn’t see her. He said he didn’t see her. I don’t know how he could’ve missed her. She was dancing in the middle of the room. Sliding up and down on a pole. Glitter on her body. All sparkly. She shined. Her tanned body glowed in the lights. Men didn’t know what hit them.

But he said he didn’t see her. Long black hair with a headpiece on made out of feathers. Looked like an Indian up there. Long tall body. Dancing to a song by Journey about two young lovers taking the midnight train to anywhere.

She took out this bear rug and started rolling on it provocatively. Silence from the men. Quietly, they drank their beers and watched as she spread her legs in the air; throwing dollar bills at the stage in slow motion. She collected each one as Every Rose Has It’s Thorn played, and she exited the stage. The d.j. said, put your hands together for Rose, everybody. And dont forget to tip your waitress.

Out in the parking lot, he sat in an old Ford truck with the radio on a country station. They played an old Emmylou Harris song. Why don’t hey make more women like that, he whispered. Why don’t they make more women like that.