Last Tuesday Club, Writing

The first time I saw her, she was standing in the cleared out area we called the stage, her dirty blonde hair piled on top of her head like a cheap Amy Winehouse impersonator. Unlike Amy though, her eyes were ringed with golds and browns, and her lips shone red as coral. She fidgeted with the microphone, bouncing on the heels of her feet, pulling at the hem of her sequinned dress with one hand, before clearing her throat to begin.

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