A local bar in downtown Zen.
The bar was dimly lit, casting an intimate glow over the scantily clad women dancing erotically on the platform.
Their hips swayed rhythmically to the pounding bass, bodies moving with a seductive grace as they spun around polished poles. The air was thick with smoke, and the faint scent of cheap perfume mingled with the stale odor of spilled beer.
Neon lights flickered, casting colorful shadows on the women as they moved, their skin glistening under the lights.
Jason Wallace sat in the corner, nursing a glass of whiskey, his hazel eyes taking in the sight before him with a mixture of admiration and desire. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the smoke curling up in lazy spirals.
