On a typical Friday evening, George usually chooses to curl up on the couch with either a good book or a film, maybe even go out with his boyfriend to the cinema if he's feeling up to it,
but besides that, George rarely leaves the flat, not really enjoying clubs or bars all that much.
He's reminded of exactly why that is the second he steps into the establishment he's been hovering around for about five minutes, a neon sign spelling out the word
flashing brightly above the small building, which sounds like the name of a clothing store or some shit when in fact it's the exact opposite.
This is George's first time in a strip joint, and he honestly hopes it his last as well.
George has to resist the urge to cover his ears as he makes his way to the booth his friends are already ensconced in once he's payed the cover fee, because it's loud in here,
not to mention hot, and crowded,
and just when George is debating on ducking back outside so he can smoke another cigarette and maybe give himself a chance to acclimate to this new environment change,
John's head pops up over the back of his seat, his slender hand waving George over, erasing his chance of a momentary escape entirely.
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