A badly warped, archaic recording came on of some disco group of the forgotten past. Slowly, the black shield lifted in front of the room, revealing an oiled up young man, ready to dance. The boy was grinding and gyrating his hips with the best of them when the shade reached the top and he saw who was on the other side.“Hey, Morgan,” he said, stopping his dance.“Hi, Zack. You’re looking pretty good,” he said.“I’m sorry.” He began dancing again.“Stop.” Morgan laughed, thinking it funny that this boy would actually think Morgan was a customer. “I didn’t come for the show. I came to see how you were doing. You disappeared on me.” Morgan popped another quarter in the slot.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Julio glared at Greg. Greg was gritting his teeth, hoping Tomi wouldn’t notice the grip on his upper arm. He knew she would kill Julio.
“You do give lunch breaks, don’t you?” Tomi taunted.“Only when he’s the lunch.”