Inside the upper-floor private lounge the music still thundered through the afternoon, bass rolling heavy enough to vibrate the glassware on the low tables.
The room itself was a throwback—deep crimson walls, polished brass fixtures, low velvet banquettes and a mirrored ceiling that fractured every movement into endless reflections.
Several topless girls moved through the haze of perfume and cigarette smoke; one pair kissed with slow sensual hunger while a third arched over a glass-topped table and cut a neat line of white powder with a black credit card, her breasts brushing the surface as she leaned in.
Another girl swayed alone near the speakers, hips rolling in time with the beat, hands sliding up her own ribs and over the bare curves of her chest as though she performed for an audience that no longer mattered.
