Beautification in the studio. Stems of yellow wildflowers weave with cables. They run along willy-nilly: touching walls; not touching walls. Yellow wildflowers grow up from their microphones, turning their heads and looking at no one in particular. Maybe looking at the engineer? The engineer’s sneakers are propped up on the dashboard. A soapy spiderweb starts at the right sneaker, the sneaker that taps with the two and four beat. The engineer is dressed down.
The singer is dressed for food service. Black polo; black shoes; ballpoint pen. Some notes crumpled up in their pockets, scribbled during slumber. Their hands are washed.
Someone else, close to the singer, is taking their shirt off, gyrating, hula-hooping down their black pants to reveal red-striped underwear and a barber’s pole. The black polo is completely off; a well-developed core is exposed.
The engineer is dressed the least appropriately.
No matter the uniform, they are ready to serve. They are confident, physically and mentally fit - submissive, magnetic.
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