He smirks. "They probably had to knock a wall down...into the next door flat."
It really was a tiny apartment.
Stepping toward the open door, he runs a hand over the back of one of the chairs. Is it a relic or a reproduction? It seems as if that question can be applied to a lot of things once they're inside.
Everything is done in gray and black, with minimalist seating -- block-shaped ottomans and love seats, leather upholstered booths, a scattering of clustered cabaret tables and chairs. Emcee goes to the bar, which is at least still as he knows it. He looks up at the mezzanine, and instead of open rails, the upstairs area seems to have been converted into private party rooms.
"The stage."
Emcee makes his way through the mostly empty room (for at least this time of day).
"They've ripped up the floorboards and cut it in half. I liked those old floorboards. They made you feel like you were...well, on a fucking stage."
no subject
It really was a tiny apartment.
Stepping toward the open door, he runs a hand over the back of one of the chairs. Is it a relic or a reproduction? It seems as if that question can be applied to a lot of things once they're inside.
"Well, fuck, they've nearly gutted it," Emcee mutters.
Everything is done in gray and black, with minimalist seating -- block-shaped ottomans and love seats, leather upholstered booths, a scattering of clustered cabaret tables and chairs. Emcee goes to the bar, which is at least still as he knows it. He looks up at the mezzanine, and instead of open rails, the upstairs area seems to have been converted into private party rooms.
"The stage."
Emcee makes his way through the mostly empty room (for at least this time of day).
"They've ripped up the floorboards and cut it in half. I liked those old floorboards. They made you feel like you were...well, on a fucking stage."