Little Marvin's Private Dancer

"Little Marvin’s Private Dancer"
by Simon Cooper

Ideas come in many shapes. This one is six foot tall with a body straight from porno. She wears a scarlet PVC bodice, black thong, thigh high patent leather boots and dances serpentine in the office of a derelict cement factory. She’s got heavy eyeliner and lashes so long I can imagine them doing me harm.

I move into the room, picking my way over the empty bottles and chocolate wrappers strewn on the floor. Graffiti covers the otherwise bare walls. Kids and condemned buildings, a combination that’ll never go out of fashion.

The Idea swivels towards me and moans like I’m a dream date not three inches too short, balding and here to shut her down.

She’s a thirteen year old boy’s wet dream, the boy in question being Marvin Millar. He wet himself all right, when we showed up at his house with a warrant. His father’s face was a picture. Idea-realization drugs are illegal, Marvin, Son. Tell him something he doesn’t know.

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