A Shoeshine and Belly Dance

I'm in the big smoke on biz.

I usually stop at the shoeshine boy at Burlington Arcade. He is a master. My wingtips pine for a buff anytime I am in the vicinity of Piccadilly.

“The Deluxe thanks Johnny, so what’s new”, asks me?

“Just back from 2 weeks of holidays in the land of the rising sun Mr. BB, gosh those japs are friendly, and the food”, says he, “the geisha tea ceremony in Kyoto, now was just breathtaking!”

Johnny is clearly no ordinary shoe shine boy. What a class act.

“Johnny, I have an open short position on Global Acme, is my best hedge a long Ardvark Galactica futures contract”, asks me?

“Well Mr. BB. Ardvark has posted strong Q2 earnings and looks like they are cleaning up in the global widget space, but you might also wish to consider… ”, advises Johnny.

He finishes. I can see my reflection in my shoes. I tip him generously.

It is a whirlwind trip. I am preoccupied with matters of grave importance. I am getting on the wrong tubes in the wrong direction to go to the wrong places at the wrong times. This happens occasionally.

I curse the invention of integrated mobile technology, it can be so distracting.

I especially hate it when my favy online shop is sold out of the thing I want to buy, and when my golf portal is down and I cannot book a weekend tee time, and… oh, double curse.

I am late for dinner. I meet the team at Kenza, a Moroccan Lebanese restaurant in an unsuspecting downstairs vault in the city. We are engaged in serious business conversation when 180 decibels of “habibi trance” explodes from the loudspeakers. It is deafening. I see my colleague’s lips move but I cannot hear what she is saying!

Out of nowhere, a convulsion of belly dancing erupts around our table. Two luscious olive skinned love goddesses with bodacious ta ta’s are shaking their bellies, booties, and, well, their ta ta’s.

The ta ta gesticulations and gyrations are hypnotizing. Almost pressed to my face, I am staring down a long cavern of pinched pert cleavage. It is heaving under my gaze. I detect a subtle scent of jasmine as I inhale the warmth and humidity. I am dizzy. I think I can see skin cells. It is getting biological.

I am reliably informed, the dancer was signaling my female colleague to get up and dance with her. It certainly sent a strong signal to the part of my body due south of my cerebral cortex and just west of my anus.

A shoe shine and belly dance, what a town! Just like the old days. Bogart would be pleased.

Beaverboosh