He trembled down the alley behind Bond street, it was with a certain hesitation as he entered the mouldy wooden door that said \'personnel only\'. Lights flicking red swollen tongues seeking. Hands meeting bums cherry perky tits underneath the hardly existing tops.

Bass pumping and trumpets howling. Small scene big band tiny girl. It was like a museum of odd characters. A collection of men in worn shoes and shabby ties stained by time and an endless number of pub nights with a depraved complex. A meat market of young girls infatuated by their power, money and talent. Modern older women in dark suits silently laughing at the younger naïve women infatuated by the men\'s lack of talent. Sitting observing making mental notes, saving moments for the hangover breakfast at the French bistro the day after and the sarcastic discussions that come with the croissant and orange juice.

Smoke of this and that laid like a veil across the room covering the hiding visitors intoxicated by this and that.

The bar appeared in front of him, like a mysterious villain. A scared barman and a see-through waitress. ”And you?” He didn\'t hear anything ”... brings you here?” Focus! He replied ”Warm port and ice water on the side”. The waitress took but two seconds and then started a weak but polite attempt to make conversations with him. If only there were some lines that he could read between. The work uniform and activities on stage was far to distracting. ”Oh nothing, you know... Just like everyone else” and hoped it was a near enough answer.

She replied with nervous giggle and a well-placed adjusting tap on the laced brassiere strap in hope of a generous \'I do something for you and you give me a nice tip in return\'-respond. At that time of night there are not many men who would see through that.

A plum coloured velvet dress was caught in the door of one of the ladies toilettes. One of the senior female visitors was occupying the room in question, contemplating her image in the broken mirror held up by the once sumptuous gold frame. She saw the innocent face of her youth. To her there were no signs of all those years of whiskey and cigarillos. All those years of obscure hangovers, worries and heartbreaks.

She was a firm believer of looking the other way. A lifetime practitioner of denial and cutting close friends of for the hunt of new and more ignorant one\'s. Who needs people growing close and asking questions? Curious people are dangerous people. A mantra that suited her and all the others at the club very well. When someone is dancing the drunken dance their discussions rarely reach any deeper subjects. Unless you\'re trying to charm someone with your intelligence to lure them home with you, under the false notion of looking at some rare first editions.

One, two and one half rotation of the clock. Look up down up down and three four five glimpses of that one and those one\'s sitting down standing up and falling over. Time spent glasses emptied. She hadn\'t stepped out once, god knows how long she will stay in there. What exactly does she see in that mirror? What does it tell her? No one seems to mind, is there some kind of hidden VIP room and she poses as a wily oversized bouncer?




... to be continued