Velvet Rope
Dizzy from circling around the same three blocks in search of a non-painted curb. Bebop booming out of tweeters that feebly channel the sounds of maximum volume. Driver and passengers forming an acute square in the car jointly lean back and forth fervently reconnoitering for a modest amount of space for a coupe. The vertigo halts after hitting the bonanza, a parking spot adjacent to the club.
Final touch-ups prior to exiting the vehicle are necessary since the fifteen minute car ride into the city may have etiolated the colors on their cheeks or the diminished the syrupy surface of their lips. Simultaneously, compacts flip, quad reflections bounce off the side view mirrors. Motley countenances form, the same expressions from the closet mirrors are reverted yet, sticks and palettes of colors are being swiped by diminutive brushes. Paint is transferred in hopes of titivating visages. Essentials are pocketed in pants that appear like they’ll fall to the ground if lipstick inserted. Some of the “pretty woman” girls slide ID’s, minimal cash and clear gloss between their calves and knee high boots. The super quad charge towards the light bolting, music thumping arena.
Two lines in symmetrical opposition are divided by a swarm of girls linking arms in effort to pervade body heat to one another. Such a train must be formed when loitering during a San Francisco evening in apparel that collectively adds up to enough garment for the next up and coming pop star. Skirts that are confused for belts, tops that are mistaken for scarves and denims so low, a bikini wax was required. The waxing continues with the bouncers. Girls flock towards them like the starved to a chef, addicts to a dealer, hookers to a pimp. The grace and embrace begin. All the while, the cash ready line expedites in spite of the pledge to allow entrance to the line that arranged for VIP guest service. The line regulators wave the carnival like comp tickets in the air then, quickly filches it back into their colossal dreary black leather coat. Repetition of this hide and seek game persists in anticipation of creating the image of an abundant crowd frontage of the club as active advertisement. The consumers are sold. Sufficiency of club-goers form a maze around the frolic pad to permit entrance to the teeth chattering, tit jiggling, smoochers. Smiles, we pass the velvet rope.
