I know it's a short one, but here it is! To anyone still reading, much thanks.

"The hair's great. Really goes with the tattoos." The club owner crossed his fat fingers. "You'll become distinguishable from the other girls. You'll get more tips the more you stand-out. All our best girls have a brand, and you, my girl, have a brand."

Akira's undercut was dyed pink. "Like a character or something?"

"Exactly." The club owner gestured to a poster behind Akira. "That's Alison. She always puts her hair up in pigtails, always wears that plaid skirt, and always wears those glasses. You'd think that'd get old after the first few shows, but people keep coming and coming." A chuckle. "For instance, you'll be a punk-rock barbie."

Akira swallowed, shifted, and slid a paper across the desk. "I brought my references. I can't believe I forgot them last time."

"Akira," said the man, "your resume isn't as important as your looks."

"How are my looks?"

"Great." The manager nodded, looking down at her resume, then looked up at her, nodding. "Do you know why I turned you down the last time you were here?"

"No, not at all."

The manager pointed a finger at her. "That's why. You don't have the experience, but you think you do. You think, just because it's a stripping job, because it's beneath you, you're owed that much." He tongued the inside of his cheek. "If you mess up here, if you do wrong, it's beneath you, so it doesn't matter."

Akira was quiet.

"There's an order to everything, even to you what you think is beneath you." The manager slipped her resume off the desk and into a filing cabinet on his side of the side. "You start Friday, 1 AM."

Akira exited the office into a dingy hallway; the wood floor and walls were so old they were black. On one end of the hallway, the shifting dull blue lights of the daytime club, and at the other end, the bright white lights of the changing rooms. Along the way were a few other doors with a wire glass window, and from one of them, a girl with moon-pale hair and skin and a purple bow tied around her neck. Something about her looked accepting, accepting of all there was, accepting her life and others' lives.

"Boss-man give you that talk?" she asked.

Akira stared at the white-haired beauty. "That talk?"

"Beneath you, beneath you—it's all beneath you," she said, broadening her shoulders and deepening her voice in imitation of a man. "That talk."

"He did," Akira said slowly. Then, putting things together. "He says that to everyone, doesn't he?"

"He said it to me." The girl shrugged her shoulders. "But I was a very different person when I started here."

Akira sighed, then chuckled. "Good. I thought there was something wrong with me."

That made the girl frown. "Do you want any advice?"

Akira made an unsure face. "I got the job, didn't I?"

"Baby, we don't have tenure here."

"Wow, okay." Akira crossed her arms, huffing out her nose. "Okay, sure."

"Working here will change how you see the world." She crossed her arms too though because she was cold. "Women become competition, men become business. Things get binary."

"How does that help me keep the job?" Irritation grew in the corners of Akira's lips.

"If women are your competition, you won't make any friends here. If men are your business, you won't ever get one."

A short laugh. "I'm not working at a strip club to make friends or find love."

The girl already looked sorry. "A future without friends or lovers, that's no future at all. Not a future anywhere, not a future here."

"Now I have a future here."

She shook her head. "That's not what I'm saying." From her handbag, she uncapped a silvery lipstick and took Akira's arm by the wrist. In lipstick on her arm, she put down a phone number on it, a small crescent moon, and a name: Luna. "When there's change, shake his hand." A half-smile. "I phrased it poorly, but that's what I meant."

Akira cringed with a nod. "You did, but I get it."

Luna looked at her watch. "I've talked longer than I should've, in more ways than one." An unreciprocated chuckle; she moved to the office door behind Akira. "Call me before Friday, alright?"

"How did you know I start Friday?"

"I didn't," Luna said. "I just like to sleep all day on weekends. You know, because I work late shifts."

To change the subject. "I'm Akira, by the way."

Luna opened the manager's door but stopped halfway through. "I'm—" She grinned and nodded down at Akira's arm. "You know." She stepped through the door and shut it behind her, and Akira was alone in the hallway. She paused, then neared her ear to the door.

"What do you think?" she heard the manager say.

"I like her. I like her a lot," Luna said.

"I'm still on the fence." Shuffling, and a desk drawer pulled out. "She seems like the hard-working type, but she also seems like the type that'll only work as hard as she thinks she should. Am I wrong for thinking so?"

"No, but—"

Akira put her head to the wall; she gripped the top of her forearm and smeared Luna's name and number down her arm. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she stormed out of the hallway. Thinking about what the manager said about her, thinking about Luna smiling to her face, then gossiping about her; her face was red and twisted as she went into the blue-lit club. On multiple black stages, silver poles gleamed purple, and the bottles behind the half-circle bar at the front of the club twisted colors into reds and pinks.

On her way out, someone at the bar turned in their seat; it was Throne. Neither looked like they wanted to say anything, but eye contact was made. Akira stopped walking, and Throne put his drink down.

"Akira." Throne wasn't frowning hard, but her eyebrows were pressed hard.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, like it was only somewhat surprising.

Throne tried to answer but couldn't. Akira moved closer, and looked at him under the dim blue lights above the bar. His face was full of stubble, that didn't belong on his feminine face, and there were dark rings under his bright eyes.

Eyes down, Throne said softly, "I don't know."

"You're drinking in a strip club an hour before opening" She moved to his side, setting her arms on the bar and leaning over. "Throne—"

"Why are you here?"

Akira turned her arm so the lipstick was facing in. "I was dropping off a friend. Her car's in the shop."

"Why are you in the club?"

"Had an hour to kill. Thought I'd look around."

Throne hung his head, looking into the glittering liquid in his glass.

Akira took a step away, but turned back, sighed, and said, "Okay. What's wrong."

Throne swallowed. "My family didn't want me at the funeral." His mouth was in a deep frown, and his eyes were watery. "They didn't want me at the fucking funeral.

"Why?"

"Don't know." Voice in a whimper. "I really don't know."

"Throne, I'm sorry," she said firmly. "You're better than this."

"Probably, yeah," his voice high and slashed.

"Drinking in a strip club—really?"

"I know, I know."

Akira slid the drink from under his face. He turned his head and she looked him in the eye. "Look at you. You're wearing a waistcoat. You don't belong in a place like this."

"I don't," he cried. "I really don't."

The bartender looked over, cringing, but Akira waved him away.

"Don't ever come back here, okay?"

"Yes, okay," Throne said miserably. "Do you still need help on your stats homework?"

"What?"

"Do you want help on your stats homework? I never had a chance to help you with it."

"You're still thinking about that?"

"Sometimes."

Akira scoffed. "No, Throne, I don't need help with my stats homework. You need help. With you. Period. How can you help me—with anything—if you can't help yourself?"

"Maybe, lunch. Or dinner, then. Maybe we can work on trinomial distribution," Throne said through a chuckle.

"I passed stats." Akira pulled herself off the bar. "Not that you'd know, since I moved out of the old building. Look, things have been crazy. It's hard enough keeping my shit together, so I can't keep your shit together too."

"I'm not asking you to therapize me. I'm just asking for dinner or something."

"Sorry," though she wasn't, and she didn't sound like it either, "no. Ask another friend, because, no."

Throne grunted weakly. "Will do."

Akira walked out of the club; Throne slid his glass back under his chin. He stared at the liquor and tears hit it hard.