"In Casablanca, In the good old days, everyone went to Rick's, where deals were cut, and hearts broken. In Madripoor, it's The Princess Bar, where intrigue's on par with the food, an' comes in a lot more variety." -Wolverine
Secrets be told
Glasses overflow
With hard dark liquor
And
Sultry tears.
There,
She sits,
Among the squalor
Of Lowtown,
Between
Desolate buildings
Rent from
Tarnished
Despair.
The Princess Bar.
The men peer out moodily
From under their brimmed hats
Holding cards in one hand,
And a gun hidden
Surreptitiously
In the other.
And the women
Lick their lips seductively,
Part their legs teasingly,
Giving off
Pungent
Perfume
As they pass.
They tell you
The food is hot
Only
When
One is hungry.
She's a place where
They mingle
Where soft music tangles with their souls
Corrupting
And
Tempting.
Indistinct smoke emits
From the lit cigar in his hand
The one they call
"Patch".
He waits in the corner,
Watching them
Succumb
To the
Twisted,
Beautiful
Ways of the
Underworld,
Called
The Princess Bar.
Treacherous
Deals are made
Evasive
Glances are exchanged
Charming
Nakedness
And
Distorted
Whispers
Thrive.
Madripoor,
The forgotten
City of cities
Sings a lonely tune
After dark.
She's a place where
The moon shines
Behind
Murky
Clouds
And the candles are lit,
Casting shadows
That
We
Cannot
Perceive.
The booze is cold
But only quenches the thirst
Of those
Who
Seek
Vengeance.
Mystery abounds
At The Princess Bar
Pleasure beckons to those
Who
Come
Looking
For
Her,
With smoky wisps of fingers
And
Ashen murmurs of
Promise,
At The Princess Bar.
Though, she still waits
For that man in the corner
The one with
The haunting feral grin,
Rough voice,
Scarred hands,
And
Wild eyes
To snuff out his cigar.