RoTaTiOnS > a nightclub in space


Now I’m getting it…

Eye contact creates an artificial telepathic link.

“You can hear me, right?”

“Not exactly ‘hearing,’ but yeah, I’m here.”

“Whatcha got in yer bulb?”

“I’m squeezin’ a grasshopper tonight.”

“I wonder what you look like rightside up?”

“Honey, my right side is always up. Why don’t you flip over?”

Must be implants that transmit and receive brain signals. This music is everywhere. The place is a giant speaker. But nobody has to talk. If I hold eye contact with someone we can think at each other coherently.


Wow. Looks like the only eye contact that guy is making is with that woman’s ass.

Hey man, look over here. Hey!

Not working. Has to be eye contact.

The huge cylinder we’re in rotates slowly and changes colors, and changes the lighting along with it.

And no one has legs. Who needs them in a weightless world? Everyone has clip on legs for gravity events, but other than that?

Nothing beats direct docking, I “hear.”


“The drugs are kicking in.”

“I think I’m feeling something.”

“You’re thick. I’m waving.”

“I’m bigger than you so it takes longer. Love this music…”

“Whoa, I can’t take this song any more. Do you know the lyrics?”

“Oh wait… This isn’t what I thought it was. Yes it was…”


“It wasn’t, isn’t, wasn’t that song I was thinking…”

“You lie.”

Wow. Not easy to think what you want to project. I’ll probably get slapped at the very least before this experience is over.


“Do you realize that some pervert is lurking in a stable orbit around your butt?”

“I thought so. I’ll try to work up a skanky fart.”

“Be careful farting in here. There’s nothing to hang on to. You’ll shoot yourself into the wall.”

“If I’m knocked out don’t let the pervert give me mouth to mouth even if it turns out he’s a doctor.”

“I promise.”

It’s weird not knowing who’s into who across the expanse of the club.

Now… that woman’s looking at me.

“Are… are you looking at me?”

“Ooops. Too weird for me. Bye!”

Well, at least you’re not left guessing.


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