The Strip Club

You decide to try your luck at the strip club, remembering the Polaroid photographs in your pocket. You step to the curb and wait for all the loud and large cars to pass before you cross the street. As you’re standing there you have a few seconds to scan the area. There isn’t much to look at, you see several boarded up buildings, trash cans overflowing on to the sidewalks and a lonely prostitute standing on a corner, a block away. The joint in front of you reflects pink neon words across the wet street ahead of you.

You learn from another bright neon sign that the strip club is called, The Naked Beaver. Instead of entering the front of the building you walk your way through the alley next to it. As you make your way slowly down the alley, stepping over broken glass and other assorted trash you hear a voice. The voice is unsteady and uneven, with high and low pitches. Instantly you know the voice is mumbling from somebody that is intoxicated.

“Nice outfit. Is it Halloween already?” jeers the drunk from you left. He is nothing but a street vagrant, drinking from a brown paper bag.

His comment has brought it back to your attention that you’re wearing a prison uniform, or at least you believe it to be some type of prison gear. You hadn’t thought too much of it when you walked across the street, the only person to get a good look at you was the whore a block away. You decide now that you will pay her a visit at some later junction. The drunk has the bottle to his lips now and has already forgotten about you. He is wearing an old pair of blue jeans and an equally worn out AC/DC t-shirt. You pause for a minute, debating on whether or not you should forcibly take the man’s clothes. At this point you potential have several options…

1. Take the vagrant’s clothes.
2. Enter the strip club at the rear doors.
3. Question the hooker.
4. Something else in mind?