zombiepodge

    This tiny conversation takes place as we stand around the huge blue door, and from behind you can hear low bass lines that flow under the cracks.  A blast of antiseptic smells and neon lights wrapped in strawberry yogurt drinks and digital tambourines detonates in front of me and my breathing feels loud.  It’s not loud enough to cover the sound of the door closing behind me without Pete or Mike coming inside.  I make a quick move to the exit and from behind the counter a woman stands up only wearing a button up shirt and a pair of pajama shorts, and suddenly everything about this place screams hand jobs for money.  On the other side of the door Pete pushes Mike through and before we know it we are browsing huge karaoke binders and talking about room rental rates for plans that we don’t have, birthday parties we won’t throw.  We take cards and coupons that we have no intention of using.  The woman waves a pleasant goodbye and lowers herself back behind the counter.  Something about the time of day and the attitude of that place leaves my head swirling like jet lag