Club | July 1987

Mina didn't look at him. She just blew a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "In 1987? The world already ended. We’re just dancing on the ruins." "Then we might as well do it right," he replied.

Leo pushed toward the bar, ordering a Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler. That’s when he saw her—. She was leaning against a chrome pillar, wearing a leather jacket despite the ninety-degree heat, her eyes rimmed in heavy kohl. She looked like she had just stepped out of a movie that hadn't been filmed yet. Club July 1987

Mina tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiled for the first time. "It’s 1987, Leo. Who knows where we’ll be by next Saturday?" Mina didn't look at him

"Leo. I’m with the synth-pop guys," Leo lied, gesturing vaguely toward a group of men in pleated trousers and skinny ties. The world already ended