You skip the queue entirely and just wander through the front door the the strip club. Most of the patrons know you and say nothing, a few of them smile and wave, far fewer grumble about 'preferential treatment. The room just inside is small, with a potted plant, a free-standing ATM belonging to some presumably popular credit company, a chair in one corner facing the door and a clear perspex window in one wall that the cashier smiles at you through. The bouncer sat on the chair is well-built, shaved bald, wearing a black shirt and slacks and is obviously new because he glares at you as you enter.
"Hey! No kids," he snaps. "This isn't a playground!"
"I know." Your mild, utterly unconcerned reply earns you a suspicious glower. "Do you have any physical problems that you need help with?"
"No! Get out of here now, or I'll call your parents."
"Hey, Chris? Lighten up." The cashier sounds like she's trying to hold back a laugh, exactly as though she's been waiting for this to happen and is eager to see what goes down. "You've been complaining all day about your sore-
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.12 seconds at 8:25am on May 05, 2025 via server WEBX1.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author