I sat alone at the bar, nursing a lukewarm beer. The neon lights overhead cast an unforgiving glare over the dimly lit room. I had come here expecting excitement, but now I just felt numb.
The music pulsed on, thumping out a beat that seemed to match the monotony of my thoughts. I watched as dancers moved listlessly across the stage, their routines mechanical and practiced. Their eyes scanned the crowd, searching for tips rather than passion.
I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, wondering why I bothered coming here anyway. The clock on the wall read 11:45 PM. Another hour until closing. Another hour of this.
A dancer approached me, her movements stiff and rehearsed. She asked if I wanted a dance, her voice devoid of enthusiasm. I shook my head, not bothering to explain. She shrugged and moved on to the next customer.
