Chillaxin’ at Club W

Found myself in the Bronx. Not my usual haunts. Had a couple hours to kill in Hunts Point. Not sure how you kill a couple of hours in Hunts Point if you’re not buying wholesale produce, but Club W came to the rescue. Ain’t many clubs with WOC in NYC that are open in the afternoon, but this one is.

I’m not usually a day shift dude, but I was nearby, so why not? No cover. $8 beers (yeah, but it’s New York, so that ain’t a shock). Simple, dollar parade layout— central stage surrounded by a bar. Private dance areas off to the side (I didn’t partake). No VIP rooms that I could spot. Dancers a mix of African American and Latinas. Bodies ranging from thin to thick. None were stunning, but no head scratchers either. Each took a turn on true stage—twerkstyle, with pasties. (As an aside, what’s the point of pasties, anyway? Who is the public official that thinks strip clubs are acceptable, but exposing nipples is a gateway to anarchy?)

Every girl that danced on the stage came around later to offer seat-side dances and plumped for privates. A couple could hold down a conversation, which I appreciate. One said she drives up from Delaware every weekend to work the dayshift, which, if I’m being honest, I couldn’t see the point of unless this afternoon was particularly slow, but I respect the hustle so who am I to judge.