White LotusIt would have been a clear night if it weren't for the mile-thick layer of smog and the light pollution from glaring neon signs and flickering street lamps. It would have been a quiet night, too, if it weren't for distant sirens and the low throb of music emanating from White Lotus.
The club must have been something special when it first opened up back in the middle ages, but now it was nothing more than a derelict hole in the wall for roaches to flock to when the sun went down. White-washed walls grimy from years of exposure to slightly acidic rain and pollution and cigarette smoke, glass shrapnel from broken beer bottles littered around the queue, a constant reek of sweat and pot and cheap air freshener that permeated the air for blocks. There was only one reason for paying a visit to the White Lotus: The girls.
"ITCH ANY KINK," screamed the threadbare banner tacked above the entrance. A seductive female silhouette arched beneath the words, hair falling in curls down her back. The ey