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31 May 2005

Comments

fuzzy nectarine

when i travel for work, it is not unusual for a client, or clients, to want to go to some strip club. you know, they want to show me how special their strip club is, the one in their town vs the ones in other towns. i end up going to the machine, getting out a couple hundred dollars in twenties, giving them to my clients, buying the lap dances, whatever.

i really don't like going. i usually end up sitting at the bar smoking cigarettes and talking to the girls on break.

i mean, the women (girls?) are beautiful, true. but, to what end? i just don't get it...give me a big phattie and an episode of elimidate in the privacy of my hotel room any time.

too bad i never sat at your bar, talked to you while you were on break...

chelsea girl

But mon cher nectarine: how can you be so certain you did not?

enemy of the state

there is no way that i would not have recognized your soul.

i did make a minor mistake, though, in implying that i loathed all strip clubs. there is (was?) this one in atlanta, the clermont lounge, on ponce de leon, around behind and beneath the clermont hotel. not exactly what i would call an upscale place; others might call it sleazy, but i wouldn't. the place was something out of a nelson algren novel or charles bukowski poem. i half expected to see old hank sitting next to me most of the times. just writing this little note floods my mind with images and memories of youth misspent, or youth adventurous, depending on your perspective.

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