Angus Fairhurst Tribute

I came up the stairs, pushing past a life size fiberglass china man, into a large room. He occupied himself with the records in the corner, as we all busily poured, chopped and chatted. Ska cut its way through the smoke, and he came over and took my hand. He was just grooving in his bare feet and yellow jumper. I wanted to melt into his coolness. For a moment I doubted myself, but then I escaped into his moment and let him look at me with his eyes. Ice cracked under bourbon, smoke and talk floated, and we danced. Eyes touching, we snapped and flowed. Breathing, watching. He was amused and focused. I rose to the occasion.Later on I bit him and allowed my tongue to taste his sweat. I loved that his thick black hair was steaked with grey, and there were cracks by his eyes. But most of all, I liked the way he danced.

I can't believe he's gone.