Club July 1987 ❲2024❳

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

"Name?" the bouncer grunted, looking like a man carved from a granite quarry. 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 tucked a stray strand of hair behind

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. That’s when he saw her—

Leo stood at the velvet rope, adjusting his oversized blazer. He wasn’t on the list, but in July of ’87, you didn't need to be on the list if you had the right hair. His was a gravity-defying masterpiece of Aqua Net and sheer willpower.

She turned and disappeared into the morning mist, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with nothing but a ringing in his ears and the faint, sweet smell of her perfume—a memory of a summer that felt like it would last forever, even though they all knew it was already slipping away.