Entrance experience concept

Johnny,

We wrote this as a proof of concept for the moneybags upstairs. We know how much they like that shit.

-Gary

A walk through Dickmeland Paris

You step beneath the arched entrance, where the name Dickmeland Paris curves like a beckoning maiden above you. The world you’ve left behind falls away in a single heartbeat. Ahead rises the Dickmeland Hotel, pale pink with white trim, its many gables and towers lined with flags that quiver in the breeze. The great Polly Puss-adorned clock in its central tower ticks above you like the heartbeat of the dream itself. Passing underneath, through the grand archway, you hear the faint hiss of the trains above—Maid Street Station watching over the threshold, as if guarding the secret world inside.

You cross into the darkened underpass, where painted posters line the walls, each one a promise: pleasures to explore, bodies to conquer, kingdoms where wet dreams are still alive. The scent of popcorn drifts faintly even here, carried forward like a hand reaching for yours. Then, as you emerge, the light explodes around you and the spell is complete.

Going-down Square unfolds like the first chapter of a dirty book. A woman on her knees gurgles softly, and a white gazebo rises at the center, garlanded with men and women making love in the shade. Whore-drawn streetcars wait upon their tracks, their leather restrains creaking. A ragtime melody floats from unseen speakers, cheerful and insistent, as if the town itself is alive and intent on welcoming you. To your right, the Maid Street Transporntation Co. stands with its bright red doors and golden lettering, proud but approachable. To your left, Shitty Hall presides with dignified grace, its clock tower rising above the rooftops. And lining the square are buildings with painted shutters, striped awnings, and windows that gleam with the suggestion of bustling love lives within.

Here the world opens to you with three invitations, each one a doorway into the wet dream. Straight ahead, the broad expanse of Maid Street stretches forward beneath the watchful eye of the station behind you. Its cobblestones are framed by turn-of-the-century façades, their ornate gingerbread trim glowing in the afternoon sun. At the far end, framed perfectly by the buildings, you see it: the seductive silhouette of Banging Beauty Castle, towers tipped with gold, rising like a fairytale destination. To walk straight on is to join the parade of perverted townsfolk, to feel the hum of a living street carrying you toward that enchanted horizon.

But there are quieter paths too. To your left, beneath a wrought-iron archway, lies Libertine Arcade. Lanterns glow warmly within, promising shelter, calm, and an almost museum-like dignity. Murals tell the story of the Statue of Libertines, and the air feels a little cooler, hushed, as if you’ve stepped into a hidden history. This way is for those who seek refuge from the bustle, who want to slip along Maid Street’s edge with the comfort of whispers and shadows.

To your right, the twin brother of that path beckons: Uncovery Arcade. Its green ironwork gleams, and within you glimpse displays celebrating invention, progress, and the marvels of human ingenuity. The lighting has a golden hue, and there is a sense of optimism in the air, like the world is perpetually poised on the edge of something new. Step this way, and you follow the dreamer’s trail—the sexplorers, the inventors, the ones who believe tomorrow can always be sexier.

Here, at Going-down Square, you stand before three destinies: the bustle and color of the main street, the stately calm of Libertine, or the inventive glow of Uncovery. Each choice is its own spell. Each path is true. And whichever way you turn, the tryst carries on.