The nightclub Lipsweet stretched out beside the Pacific Ocean. Far from any airport or tourist attractions, it was a locals-only dive bar, with women dancing and serving and with shaggy-haired men filling out the tables that spilled onto the beach.
It was easy for Mister Gregarian to say ‘kick the dealers out’, but it was the musclebound oafs filling the gym with their armpit sweat right now who would actually have to do it. It wasn’t as simple as Mister Gregarian seemed to think. The dealers that haunted Lipsweet most nights would boil up if kicked out.From Poahi the Lackey
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MN Manmacker's mansploitation