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(CONTAINS SMUT AND DRUG USE. 18+)
T W E N T Y T H R E E
The sticky residue of spilled alcohol clung to the floor, forcing your shoes to squelch against the rubbery surface. "Could've cleaned their floors," you muttered, prompting Sasha's laughter as she teased, "Don't be a Debbie downer. You're starting to sound like Levi."
The thumping bass drowned out Sasha's words, leaving only fragments audible amidst the cacophony of gyrating bodies vying for attention like contestants on Britain's got talent. Women adorned in tight-fitting attire flaunted their curves unabashedly, swinging their hips on any man, ugly or not.
A familiar figure with a buzz-cut approached, whisking Sasha away, twirling her in a circle with a theatrical flourish, his grin akin to a mischievous child. "M'lady," he declared with exaggerated gallantry, "may I procure a beverage for the fine lady?"
Sasha scoffed, pushing Connie away with feigned disgust. "How much have you had to drink?" she quipped, to which Connie attempted to count on his fingers before giving up entirely. "Why does it matter, Ms. Braus?"
"Because you're being an utter goofball," Sasha chuckled, prompting your interjection: "Connie's always an idiot; he doesn't need alcohol."
"Jeez, get this woman some drinks!" Connie bellowed, his hands forming an imaginary megaphone around his mouth.
"Leave her alone. Levi and her finally called it quits," Sasha informed Connie, who formed an 'O' shape with his mouth. "That would explain it," he remarked before theatrically announcing, "Make that a double!"
