As I stepped inside, greeted with the fake, hollow smile, characteristic of such places, I smelt it. That strange artificial musk, the overpowering cologne of a hundred lost souls. There were well over a hundred people in there, each with a different story to tell. But I wasn’t there to tell their stories. I was there to begin my own.
I took a seat, unaware of the fact that it was to be a scene of “action”. We waited there, waiting for people to gather. We waited.
After the first gut-wrenching, horrific ten seconds, that left even grown men weeping, I finally acclimatized to my strange surroundings. The air was cold, yet had a distant warmth, like the promise of a “happily ever after”. And the women, boy were they pretty!! Laden with half an ounce of makeup on their faces, strutting about on high heels, helping their customers get…
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