Some of the worst club music ever recorded is blasting from a dozen speakers around this out-of-the-way nightclub but he's too drunk to notice. Everything sounds good when your nervous system is moving at a tenth of the speed it should. He stumbles through a crowd of a million female performers and awkward guys and break dancers and passed out softies who couldn't hold their liquor all the way to the bathroom. He knows where he's going, he thinks, somewhere towards the back where the security guards and occasional cop couldn't see.
The cardboard sign reads, in all sorts of colored marker and bubble letters, "Lollipop Kids. Once you pop, the fun won't stop!" followed by a creepy looking smiley face. A man at least twice his size shields the curtain.
His voice shakes the floor—"How can I help you?"
He raises one eyebrow, and replies, "I think you know. What's the rate?"
"Hundred per girl."
"I'll take two." He hands the guy the cash. "Let's go check um out."
This particular corridor of the club is lit solely by black light, causing every girl's white belly shirt to glow along their curves. They all have different bottoms, their choice. There's young and old, tall and short, skinny and curvy, blondes, brunettes, and redheads galore. He likes what he sees.
Around the corner, two of them share a moment of conversation that was so rare in their line of work.
The blonde one whimpers. "I hate cherry," referring to the mandatory lollipops that are stuck in their mouths.
The brunette whispers in an attempt to quiet her, "I hate them all. They make me gag and they taste awful, especially when your mouth already tastes of vomit."
Blondie giggles. "I like vomitless watermelon myself—"
The infamous pimp and a particularly scraggly man stop in front of them. "Hmm," he ponders, "one's blonde, skinny as hell, and short, and the other's brunette, long, and bootylicious, as they say." Each of them stifles a laugh. "Both of um are nice and young. I'll take um both."
As per cue, they slide their candy between their breasts and move up to him slowly, allowing him to take a lick of each. "This way," the pimp directs.
In the room, lit with a single candle and equipped with a fluffy comforter on a king size bed, they lie on the bed and say the line, "We are at your service, new master."
The blonde continues to stare seductively into his eyes, slowly pulling off her pink mini skirt. The brunette in the black jeans, however, lays still. Barbie nudges the girl, warning, "You wanna get paid or what?"
But she keeps staring, until her arms begin to jerk uncontrollably, followed by her torso and legs.
"Marissa! MARISSA!" The blonde girl is panicking and crying.
"Don't touch her," the man booms. The girl looks up in fright. "She's having a seizure. And I'm a doctor."