The way they'd dance you'd think it was the end of the world. But Erle wasn't so much captivated by the whole thing as much as he was transfixed by the sight of twenty four nyloned legs kicking a Can-Can in Coney Island. He had been off from the hosiery factory since the day shift. Erle's eyes never made it to the s-curved hip lines of those sequenced beauties but lived for the sopt on their thighs where nylon leg met with three inches of skin and then two garter straps. He was watching the way that three inches was framed. It should hang in every art gallery in the world he thought. Twenty four of them in a row and Erle could barely contain himself. You can't imagine the longing of a young german imigrant working in a hosiery factory.
- posted by Sean Wheeler @ 12:19 AM