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We met her at Starlight, spotted her in the middle of the dance floor, whirling, an acrobat, her body a conduit for the light and heat of the whole bar, the whole borough, the whole city, sizzling in high summer. The walls are Moroccan tiles, geometry and color, sapphic poems and coupling figures scrawled in places; lush plants every shade of green glimmer in the dark and flash. It’s bewitching, and everyone wants under the spell. The crowd, fluid, rippling under disco balls, moves through the space like a river flowing in some fantastical jungle, all exotic and exhilarated, birds of paradise.