An Enigma song is playing. One of the Russian girls dances to it. Ah, the 90’s. Velvet rhinestone gowns from Las Vegas, G-strings pulled up to our ribs, and money. So much money. This song reminds me of a few things: My hometown; San Francisco. Burning Nag Champa and fucking. And when I first started experimenting with crystal meth.

One of my friends at Mitchell Brother’s used meth—that whole club was like Fear & Loathing on any given shift. About an hour into our night, her and I would sneak into the rarely used, single bathroom across from the offices and poker room—where mounds of blow and who knows what was being ingested by some very famous individuals over the years; see Rated X starring Emilio Estevez and Charlie Sheen—and get high. I’d make sure to have a small champagne buzz first (the club opened bottles of champagne for the girls at the beginning of the shift…alcohol wasn’t sold to the customers. It’s forbidden at totally nude club’s in California), and then I’d snort a super tiny amount. It was the perfect high. I felt like I was on the smallest amount of ecstasy, with the heart opening and joy, but without the comedown and recovery time. It also gave me energy, but didn’t make me feel hyper.

On slow nights, I’d lay on the big oversized chaise lounge, which sat ominously on the landing by the stand-up Cabana’s, and space out. The music from the New York Live room filling me up as I watched the lights from the mirror ball. Those were magical times. Although I’ve heard this song to death, it’s making me feel happy and nostalgic at the moment.

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