Day CCXV

Morgana

    Back in the day there was a cool lounge on One Hundred and Forty Ninth street in the Bronx. La Campana was really a cool jazzy place for romantic interludes,  a place for an extra marital rendezvous. There were private tables in the dim back, and a piano at its entrance. But when go go became a big thing, the owner turned it into a go go bar. It became a place to ogle lovely young girls dancing in teeny weenie bikinis, and white go go boots around a pole, on a mirrored stage behind the bar. It could have been one of the first go go bars in the county at the time. There was no nudity, and customers ogled them bumping, and grinding their asses around a pole to music, which dudes chose from a juke box. A lot of young guys went there for a drink or two on weekends before going to the dance hall next door.

     Morgana was a jive, fast talking young twenty, something at the time. She had the shape of the classic coke bottle, and a face that could send idiots into twelve round title bouts. She wore a Santeria choker around her neck, which coordinated with her white boots, and teeny weenie, white string bikini. The girl had rhythm as she slowly gyrated her ass, and dazzled drunken dudes, into thinking they were going to take her home at the end of the night. She was also an obnoxious, elitist, and arrogant witch, who knew what she had going for her, and worked it for tips.

     “Ouch!” Jorge loudly exclaimed, as he walked in one night while she was doing her thing.

     “Be cool dude!”

     “Ugh!”

     “Dat tease can take ya fo a ride, man,” I muttered.