Sunday, 18 October 2009

And this club I have not paid entry for. Much like the club before, and the bar before that. And whilst being solicited by a girl, sporting only a Naval captains cap, I receive a phone call. Push my way through the crowed, stained club. Reach the antechamber. Notice the carpet is the same of many chain clubs. And consider whether this is a sister establishment. Sip a complimentary drink, courtesy of my charm. And move, group in tow, to the second private floor.

Convinced that my social life may not be entirely dead, I wonder whether it perhaps should be. Many of the clientele middle age, balding office jockeys. Flustered. On this level I am propositioned by five girls. Consecutively. Dubbed Abercrombie & Fitch boy. Presented to a blonde, semi attractive girl, who in profile is hideous. Laugh as someone asks of her aspirations in life. Asked what aspirations mean, entertained. Introduce a friend. And slip away.

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