Good ol Jody.
He did not care that this gig may be his last, as was his drag make up graced his tone cheek.
In the dry dressing room, he pinched the adipose fat of his abdominals, he could ascertain a lower bf percentage, to show his muscle. Stress had made him gain a little yet the spartan discipline of his dieting regime made him stay on track. His dysmorphia receded.
He was to make a dance with his body to show it like glamour yet again to the woman and gay lookers of the bar. He was to be their draggy fantasy, this time. Gonna “slay” whatever that was. This act involved crushing a watermelon. That lingering idea in his mind felt rushed, the closure of this gay club was soon.
This peacock certainly has the body, several bulk and cut cycles, a push-pull workout. All lead to a rather portioned physique. His hips still were the leftover of what he was before he transitioned. The door opened, he was done, he is here. The manager.
Jody strutted towards the contract holder, the contract was to the word, to the end. Financial turbulence came with the manager deciding to sell out the establishment to a competitor looking to replace it with a fast food big brand.
Jody believed he was going to take the money of the buyout and run. Only the air of professionalism took his politeness and job to do this last gig. Everybody was disappointed except for the guy running away.
“That construction get up is fitting. Going to live it on like my clubber. Your on next.” The human yuppie said.
Jody tensed his beak with such an order with such talk. Attempting his hide his disappointment.
“Yeah, y'going to get a show. I'll be there.” Jody said. His scouse accent, however muted for understandability. Showed its colours here. The manager could not hide his amusement as his boot heels graced past him.
So it began, the dj, Laura given him her word on tge favourite track.. Her middle age was showing its weariness. Jody had some optimism to his number. With the track a lyriclass synth beat.
“What're you going to do after this?” Laura said.
“Nowt, can't be bothered. The other gay bars several blocks. Start playing the track, Laura.” He fluttered he trans-coloured makeup.
-----
Still in makeup, cleaning the watermelons juice from his heels. His club owner had come.
“Jody I know it's really hard for you, I'm sorry that I had to make the deal, it was a better opportunity, I had to. Had to!” He said. He could not hide his brummy accent.
Swallowing his anger, he got up with his gear with silence. Then-
“Nah, didn't promote your business enough, no word was spread. Put it on my shoulders.” Jody said.
“I'll leave it up to, you'll lock it up, alright?”
He left.
“Annoying dump, full house of patrons, he bawks out!” Jody went.
The grip of his sledgehammer tightened, out of frustration. He looked at the zebra wallpaper and the flag. The platform and the empty space. The ambiance with its lack of love is suffocation.
“Dump! I'll show the investors what it's worth.” He said, slugging a weak spot by the flag.
After several blows, the wallpaper ruptured, bricks and mortar were broken. It was until then this act felt pointless, panting, he picked up a dirty brick. Leaning over his hammer, still fresh.
It was ready, ready for something else.
“What's gonna work? Urgh! Unless..” he had a revelation.
That flyer. Flyer offering fair pay for so-called construction work, plenty of use for his sledgehammer, he had some doubts what was going behind, yet this chance will have to be it. He had a connection.
He was going to relive the union, even if it felt more dangerous to serve as a frontman there. The purpose even greater to live up to than this squandered opportunity. This place had shut down, with it his anger has dissipated.
“This nowt' worth it. Mingy.” Jody thought. He took the flag and the brick. Out of the club.
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| Wipsketch |
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| First Concept of the revision. |