The
little hut beneath the railway arch engulfed in whistling, song, and laughter;
it is this bedlam as would give them away were anyone within distance of
hearing. Each pocked with torn photographs, the otherwise colourless interior
walls backdrop four young girls who applaud and provoke the fifth of their
number, adapting her hipless grind to their howling and whatever precarious
choreography she can establish upon the unstable and stinking mattress beneath
her now shoeless feet.
Inspired
by the surrounding display and their odd euphoric disgust at the substantial
pubic hair on exhibit, and with obeisance to some universal striptease theme,
they each perform within their own self-bellowed soundtrack the partial or on
occasion total removal of their clothing, in wonderful celebration of their
singular still-clinical hairlessness, this joy they know to be defined, not far
now from the cusp of pubescence.
