![]() I sat in his lap during a night shift in my San Francisco home club when he was in from the East Coast for work we started talking, and couldn’t stop. ![]() He greeted me exactly where I was, and in that spot, affection bloomed. He also didn’t view dancers as a dating pool and hang about, lovelorn, like a Stage Door Johnny from vaudeville days. wasn’t Captain Save-a-Ho, the type who thinks telling a stripper, “You’re better than this” is a compliment, and seeks to whisk you out of this hellhole. Within the taxonomy of strip club customers, M. The letter was from M., my old strip club regular. ![]() Typed neatly over the address wasn’t a sender’s name, but rather, an inmate ID - a hashtag and a string of numerals. ![]() The return address on the letter was from a Connecticut prison.
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