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Mini-fiction #4

September 23, 2010

He took one more flying leap as he exited the stage, just to release some of the adrenaline. Someone handed him a white hand towel as he made his way to the dressing room, peeling off his sweat-drenched shirt before he’d even crossed the threshold.

Some of the other dancers were already in there, discussing the show, the heat, the audience and the choreographer’s disturbing level of faith in the human body.

“One more night of this,” someone said, “and I’ll die.”

He buried his face in the towel again, hoping to absorb some of the sweat, and was surprised to feel a hand graze over his back, passing evenly from his right to left shoulder.  He lowered the towel from his face and opened his eyes.

The man had passed him now; he held a kit bag slung over one of his broad shoulders. He looked back as he reached the door, showing for just one fleeting moment, a slightly lop-sided smile and mischevious eyes.

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