Desire Denied: A Night of Flat Vibes and Awkward Energy

After years of popping into Desire, I think the flame has officially fizzled. I rolled up around 8:30pm, expecting the usual energy, but the place was practically a ghost town—just three dancers on deck. Slow nights usually mean more conversation and personal attention, but not this time.

First red flag? The bartender. New face to me, and instead of just sliding me an $8 beer and letting me park where I wanted, she interrogated me about where I planned to sit. Odd. I ended up in my usual corner—prime viewing angle for either the stage or the TV if things got boring. Spoiler: they got boring.

Dancer #1 comes out… bikini dance. No spark, no energy. I still tossed $15–20 her way between stage tips and her walk-around. She barely made small talk and vanished. Dancer #2 (someone I’ve seen before and usually enjoy) hit the stage next. Same thing—bikini dance, zero energy, like her battery was running on low power mode. Meanwhile, some random guy slid into the stool directly behind me—ignoring literally *15 other empty seats*. He starts grilling me about shot prices, then tries negotiating with the bartender like he’s angling for a free show. Between his constant texting and lurking, I kept one eye on the stage and the other making sure this wasn’t turning into a parking-lot situation later. Finally, the bartender hit him with the “two-drink minimum” line, and he bounced. Weird vibes though—like he was waiting on something shady.