All in the Name of Research

In my defense, I had no idea it was a brothel when I walked in...or when I left for that matter. I had set off in search of a good bar or club and just happened to wander into one that looked promising, complete with beaded lanterns and silk wall-hangings. Notebook in hand, I marched up to the bar to check out a drink menu...and then I realized that every single woman and the one man in the bar were staring in my direction. I'm not talking curious, friendly, "Ah, a new face," stares; I'm talking down-right hostile "What are you doing here" stares. An eerie silence filled the bar; not a soul was talking.

Now, granted, my jeans and fleece weren't exactly night-life material, and it had been awhile since I'd gotten around to doing laundry, but really....At any rate, the drinks were exorbitantly expensive and the incredibly weird vibe exuded by the whole place was creeping me out, so I decided it was about time to high-tail it out of there. I more or less forgot about the incident until I passed by the bar the next day. Still a little confused by the whole thing, I stopped in front of the building to read the words painted on the window, circling the silhouette of a woman: "Music, drinks, and pleasure." Hmm...I guess it would've helped if I had read that first.