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I can feel the bass from the amplifiers vibrating in my throat. The red from the bar signs reflects off all the faces of the young patrons like some sort of psychotic neon night-light. None of them realizing the hellish effect. For most of these people, alcohol is the director, and Mom and Dad the executive producers. Giggles and come-ons and batting eyelashes. Most of them missing the bluesy riff cutting through the air like the whiskey cutting through my throat. A drunken blues singer flirts from the stage with a scantily clad cocktail waitress. She glistens with sweat in the red glow. The bartender helps me move onto something other than Scotch. The band rips into a remake of a song... a timeless song, originated by an icon... long since dead. Beautiful young girls dressed up more for each others' benefit than anything else. Few of them realize what they're considering subjecting themselves to.

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