It was the same, night after night.

The room was lit the same, the music was the same, the ladies, men and cigarrette girl were the same. Even the rummy, smoky air was as suffocating as always. I sat at the same table, watching the same girls perform the same dances with legs flapping about like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off, sipping ( Read more... )

It is called ”the Drones club” and indeed it reminds me of those lazy, male bees.

Swarming around avoiding work and looking for pleasure in every way it may come.

The first time i visited the club was in the earliest morning hour, not so much carrying as pushing and dragging a stuffed elk.  Fortunately I did not have to do this all by my lonesome, ( Read more... )