A Table

I take a glance over at the seating around the stage, but think better of it, once I see a bunch of guys already sitting there, that look like central casting from Full Metal Jacket. The last thing I need to deal with is a bunch of drunk, horned up jarheads.

So, I take the quick walk towards the back of the strip club, where I find an empty table, and make myself at home, checking my phone quickly to make sure no crises have risen up in the few hours since I've left Los Angeles. Happy that nothing is on fire yet, I turn my phone off, then take in the scenery, whether it's the group of people at various tables, the stripp – er, exotic dancers make their way through the club, and the strip club DJ making the call for the next girl that is making her way to the stage.

Before that happens though, one of the dancers notices the fresh meat that I am and walks up to my table.