The village below.

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A slow night at work... It seems like the whole world wants to piss me off today. The men I approach say nothing, but hold their hands up, like they cannot be bothered to speak. Why the fuck are you here? I keep asking myself. The night is young, your men will come soon...whoever they are… Finally, after one Tom Collins and some relentless bitching, a familiar face appears from behind the curtain, followed by three very animated guys. An eclectic group they don’t seem to quite fit, but I like it. I approach my friend, and soon after we take a shot I am in the center of the 4 of them, answering their questions, laughing at their jokes, reveling in their adoration. One has a media business, the other a stylist to celebrities, and the other an alchemist, if you will, of fine cocktails. Tonight, the old friends celebrate their reunion, and the meeting of a new muse, of course. After some moments of chatting and a few dances later, they are leaving for another place with peculiar cocktails and softer music. They slip me the address of a high-end spot in the west village and a couple hundred dollars as a thank you for making them smile... I look around, this place is slow, and I have had enough hands of rejection for the night. I pack my things up and leave the club to fend for itself. In the name of kinder gentlemen, creative cocktails, and soothing music...I hail a cab and leave for the village below.

Valarie MercedComment