I was seated alone at the bar, mesmerized by Mel the Aztec princess licking her lips as she stared at me and hung upside down on the pole.

When I sat there a surly fat Mexican, of thirty years, was to my left, looking at his phone and refusing to tip the girls. When they crawled to me and I tipped them he glared at me. Then when he made to glare at me again, I turned in my seat and faced him. He snarled, got up, and waddled out. It was late now and the security detail were frisking men who entered, which is a good reason to get there during the day and hang around, because I was armed, having arrived before dark during the less vigilant day shift with a man who is an associate of the owner.

Somebody bumped me from the left, so I scooted right. Two must have sat there, because I got hip-bumped again and scooted further right.

Then, this soft, hip, encased in a clingy black dress, conforming in its gyrations to the hour-glass body of a black-haired woman who seemed pure Italian and had evil dark eyes, began crawling onto the bar, grabbing my crotch and pointing out her favorite dancers, “Oh Poppy, love her, Poppy—so bonita!”

She orders a drink and points to me and the barmaid takes my money…

“Oh, Poppy, you still strong Poppy [as she grabs and squeezes so much that it almost hurts and I decide I will never trust this bitch with the only meetgun that the Almighty issued me to rule her kind] you love me Poppy?”

And out come the big pale breasts with the light brown nipples and veins of authenticity, “Poppy, God made me for you, Poppy. See how I love you?” and she juggled her naked breasts like they were props in some stage play.

“You work here?”

“Yes, Poppy—not tonight...tonight I here for you, to love you, Poppy!”

I recalled this bitch being the older sister of the lesbian mouth-rapist from the hookah lounge, and lo and behold, that evil bitch was to my right gyrating on Mister Safrano hissing, “Oh, Hefe—Hefe en his Poppy! We have’n a good time!”

“Whatever, James wants, Baby—James is from Out of State!”

The evil twins then cooed, “Out of State, Hefe—we love Out of State!”

And she crawls around me on her knees and hands using her stool, the bar, me and some other girls body as props for her sibilant dance.

Mel, the second prettiest face in the place behind Malissa, and with a smaller version of that bubble-butted body and a distinctive Aztec cast to her features, is crawling towards me in her orange—what-ever-the-hell that is...

The Evil Snake Priestess from Lemuria, who seems to be treating me like a panther treats a tree, breaks her drink glass on the bar to keep Mel away from me, for Mel was crawling towards me licking her lips, “Slut, Poppy belongs to me!” hisses the mistress from Lemuria, a continent surly drunken by a righteous tide…

This bitch was frightening.

“Poppy, you beard belong between deese...kiss me Poppy, my drink—Mel spilled my drink, Poppy, anotha’ drink Poppy…”

Mel found her way around the other side and was licking my neck, reaching for my groin, until the bigger more wicked hand of Princess Loca pushed Mel’s hand away, grabbed me and snarled…, “Poppy, you still strong Poppy—for me Poppy, not for Mel. Mel has to work. I am free, Poppy.”

Mister Safrano winks at me, “Whatever you want, James...enjoy.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re free, Baby.”

“Oh, Poppy, you so smart. Move down Poppy, dat bitch Mel spilled my drink—no Poppy, don’ clean it up, yer hands belong here…” and she wiggled her hips up along my ribs, pulling my hands to cup her breasts…

She then, convinced me that I was reliving the scene from Dracula were Jonathan Harper is molested by the vampire wives and looked into my eyes with utterly soulless brown pools of deception, sucked from her purple hand hookah and blew the smoke into my beard to see if it clung there and said, “Poppy, I need to smoke—more hookah—need twenty dollar.”

“You know when I was your age, no one ever gave me twenty dollars for anything, not even work.”

“I know Poppy, because you were not beautiful...this is life and I...” and she wiggled knowingly like some queen who knows the world worships her form, and then turned and popped out her breasts and draped them on my lap and looked up at me licking her lips, “en you didn’ have no Poppy—I have Poppy!” and she gyrated like a sinuous she-devil as I gave her a $20, an act made more difficult be her grabbing my manhood with one hand and reaching for my knot of money with the other—just one twenty Baby…, I’ll be back,” as I lied into her lust-shadowed face and escaped to the relative sanity of the men’s room.

There, I made sure now hoodoo pins had been placed in the nether pipe, washed my hands and beard, tipped the towel man and looked him in the eyes, to which he answered “Moocho Loca!” apparently a witness to all that man does when we fall.

Thank you, Mister Safrono, for such a surreal journey into the real.