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Track 23 Love Scars and Pamn

Pamn rolled out of bed, looking around her small apartment bedroom for her phone. She ripped the sheets off her mattress, then ran her hands along it. She heard its ringtone, but she just couldn't find it. Bending down, she reached under her bed; stretching as far as she could.

She felt the black metal phone case pass under her fingertips as her hand brushed over. She grabbed it and quickly answered the call.

"Did I just wake you up?" A female voice on the other end laughed.

"Yeah," Pamn admitted, chuckling and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "It's okay, though. I wasn't planning on going to bed just yet."

"Well, that's good..." she led.

"Why is that?" Pamn asked, letting the final word drag on.

"You don't have a shoot tonight or tomorrow morning?"

"No."

"A'ight, bet. Imma come by and pick you up in like forty. Is that cool?"

"Okay..." Pamn said.

"Bet, wear something sexy," she said, hanging up the call.

Fifty minutes later, a black convertible low-end sports car pulled up in front of the tall concrete housing. Three young women sat inside, talking and laughing.

Pamn got to her feet from sitting on the stairs in front of the apartment; with a quick sweep, she brushed off the back of her denim skirt as she eagerly approached the waiting car. She adjusted her white tube-top as the car peeled away.

Pamn got on her knees, pushing herself up onto the blood-red leather seat. Even though it was night, the warm Miami air was almost orgasmic. As the car sped down the street, it blew her bleach-blonde hair into a frenzy.

As they walked down the street toward the club, Evelyn, the one who called Pamn, reached into her purse. Her many thin gold and silver bracelets jangled as she rummaged, finally pulling out a bottle of blue Gatorade and handing it to Pamn.

"Uh," she took the drink, looking at it.

"It's an Everclear mix," Evelyn clarified.

"No," Pamn said hesitantly. "I-I just..."

"It's not gonna kill ya," Evelyn smirked. "Come on now."

"You weren't there, but the first and last time I drank anything was a disaster."

"Then don't drink it. Sip it."

Pamn gave a long stare to Evelyn and sighed, lifting the bottle to her lips.

The bouncer was dead-eyed and humorless but still let the four skip the quarter-mile line.

The inside of Humano Genoma was packed. A crush of bodies in the red-lit hallway, drinking, smoking, and grinding. The trap bass rippled through the ground, feeling the beat inside their chest cavities as it reverberated off every surface.

They pushed through a cloud of weed smoke, entering the club's main floor.

The room was massive and packed. To the side of the room were several sets of VIP tables bathed in dim, ambient light. Meanwhile, the dance floor transformed into a chaotic masterpiece—a swirling concoction of sweat-drenched bodies and spilled drinks, where the rhythm of the music became the heartbeat of the collective energy.

Evelyn pushed her way straight to the bar. Ordering several shots, she took one, pulling a face, and attempted to shake out the taste.

Pamn leaned against the bar next to her, looking out at the crowd. Her gaze shifted to the VIP lounge, briefly catching the eye of a man who sat looking blankly out, bobbing his head to the beat of the song. Walking by him was another man the size of a mountain; to Pamn, it looked like he could be on the stage of a bodybuilding competition—whose heart can survive the most steroids?