There is no perpetual motion machine, but if it the secret is ever discovered, I believe it will be powered by sexual energy. It’s the excitation source that never stops.
Saturday nights in my small Florida town, are like Saturday nights everywhere. Young – or in Florida’s case, old – people are out and about, looking for the one. Whether it’s the one for one night or one lifetime is not clear, but mostly the need is immediate. The smell of elevated hormone levels is eye-watering, everyone’s heightened level of awareness of everyone else eye-popping.
It’s always been this way, but now I’m an observer of the game, at least when I’m out working. The twenty-somethings like this place, Horse Feathers. It’s an okay restuarant by day, with a good wine list, but on the weekends, it turns into a zoo. Lurking around outside waiting for my customers, one thing strikes me as different from when I was twenty-odd. Thesedays the girls dress up; sky-high heels, skirts, expensive blouses, hot dresses, make-up, hair, nails. They’re walking Vogues. But the guys are slobs. Jeans, sneakers and untucked shirts, trucker hats – the contrast is jarring.
It makes me wonder if men even think about trying any more. Maybe they don’t need to.
Oh, how things have changed.