meekia

Bar 84

My accomplice shared the same description with the crime scene:

Expensive in a chic and muted manner.
A ton of quiet charm.
Polished subtlety.

In the car, we enjoyed a pretty, silly, politically incorrect song.
Honest, naive, and honestly naive lyrics.
The girl who wanted to grow up and become a drug addict.

I took a wrong turn but we still managed to get there in time.
For two cats who always dropped off diamonds at each other's doorstep, the place looked purrrfect.

slim, amber lamps.
soft.
mood.
sofas in luxurious browns.
small, quiet, floating candlelights on the table.
stainless steel ash-trays. spotless.
old jazz. wafting. Idly by.

She remarked with delight the instant she got a peek at the stylish interiors from outside.

The place was plush.

First person we see, when we enter, looked like the boss of the bar. He was standing behind the bar-counter chatting heartily with some customers.

He paused, mid-conversation, and took a look at the cats that had stumbled into his territory. I thought he seemed surprised to see us. Or maybe, more specifically, surprised to see me.

Me,
Pale cream-cheese yellow & pastel green, fat horizontal stripes. Long-sleeved top. Messy head of brown tossed with ash blonde highlights. Candy ring on my index.

More fun than a bun,
But still,
Quite apparently a fish in the wrong tank.

(Wrong kinda nightspot for you, sonny?)

But the boss-looking person didn't actually say anything. Neither did he order anyone to politely escort us out of his den. He simply smiled, nodded, and carried on entertaining the people around him in fluent Japanese. The waiter, on cue, walked over and got us seats.

I knew there was a lot we could steal, but we took our time.
The Kir Royal and American Lemonade will not run away.

Our modus operandi was simple: Play ping-pong. Shake a little seaweed.

42 times 2

That's why, it's Bar 84.


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Bar 84

posted by audaciousjoy @ 3:39 PM