“Blind Curves,” Josiah read off the sign. “A strip club for the visually impaired.”

He turned to Elijah. “How can they read the sign if they’re visually impaired?”

“You think they’re driving if they’re legally blind?” Elijah said. “The sign’s for their taxi.”

“Oh.” Josiah smirked. “Well hey, it’s an opportunity for ugly strippers for once.”

“What’s that supposed to men?” Elijah said.

“Well, if you can’t see them, who cares what they look like?”

“Josiah, you dumb son-of-a-bitch, you think anyone is in there on a pole if the clients can’t see them? No, they are gonna be up close and personal. Hell, maybe the dancers are blind too. But I tell you what, they are gonna be toned as hell.”

“And why’s that, professor?” Josiah said, by degrees amused and insulted by his fellow HVAC repairman’s sudden expertise.

“Folks who don’t see so well, they see with their hands,” Elijah said. “So it’s gonna be all lap dances, all hands, all hands that know what the hell they’re doing, and they’ll feel it if there’s an ounce of flab anyplace.”

“Huh,” Josiah said. “That’d be a sight to see, wouldn’t it?”

“Not really, no,” Elijah said. “More of a feeling.”

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