i know you're dancing just for me (tag farah)

Dog liked the strip clubs in Vegas because they were the halls of royalty in his beloved, luminescent, tawdry little town. Showgirls and strippers, call girls and whores, they were the queens of Las Vegas when the lights came on. He loved to watch them hold court, and yes, partake of their favors when they offered them. He was, after all, just a man...and he was particularly good at finding the purest, most beautiful girls among the Sin City trash.

Tonight was no exception. He was in a distant corner far removed even from Freemont Street, grinning up at the glaring neon sign watching as a female form flash back and forth between suggestive poses meant to call the male animal inwards to the fleshy delights that awaited.

The place reeked of Desperation. By the time he left, it would be as it was meant to be: a joyous celebration of the body and all its pleasures.

Walking in, Dog paid the cover with a smile and found himself a table stageside (not hard when he conjured a few bills for the smiling waitresses in barely-there skirts). Sitting back with a beer on order, he eyed the glittering mylar fringe curtain and the pole at the center of the stage, waiting to see what the night held for him this time.