A very, very cheap strip/dance club located on the side of the freeway, the Dirty Tiger has a fitting name. Clara shudders as she assesses the metal building lit up by neon signs promising a good time. The windows are grimy, blocking the view to the inside¸ but that’s probably for the better. “Wow, it’s worse than I imagined,” she mumbles as she stares at the corner of the building where a man is leaning back, and a woman is down on her knees. Despite being partially hidden in the shadows, it’s pretty clear what they’re doing. “Maybe I should take you back to the motel then come back by myself,” I suggest, unbuckling my seatbelt. As terrified as Clara looks, she shakes her head. “No, I’m going in there with you.” “Are you sure? Because it’s going to be way worse inside. I don’t want to be the reason you’re subjected to the hard shit in life.”
