Maybe tomorrow they couldn’t pay rent and they were dead. Maybe this was the last good thing that would ever happen to her. Tomorrow would be dust and want and asking Toomie for pity and a loan that he probably couldn’t give, but tonight she was dancing dirty with a man, and then a woman, and then by herself, letting her hands run up and down her hips, feeling the beat as she moved. Bunching the fabric of her sheath in her fists, loving the way it tickled her palms as she swayed to the music. The music wasn’t loud anymore. It was inside her. She moved to it, beats and pulse. Another heart,
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