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undulating fashion on the main floor. She was wearing a fluorescent green, one-piece spandex mini-dress that gripped her body like a second skin. The dress was so short that each time she raised her hands above her head the dress would hike up over her and reveal her naked hips and pelvis. Feigning embarrassment, she would slowly pull down the fabric, which glowed brightly in the black lights. Then she would “adjust” her perfectly out of proportion, surgically enhanced breasts. Phillip watched as she giggled slightly while dropping her head to one side and looking up into the eyes of her gawking audience.

    Her flamboyance was quickly making her the center of attention on the main floor. Phillip had noticed her earlier when he arrived at the club and made a mental note to congratulate the front door security for covertly getting her into the club in spite of her “under the legal limit” age. He could almost hear the cash registers “chi-chinging” all of the money being spent by her would-be suitors buying highly overpriced champagne in an attempt to get into her “lack of” pants.
    He chuckled to himself as he stood up from the desk and stretched his legs. Smoothing out his linen pants, he walked away from the window toward the one quiet room in the entire building ; his own little spot of contemplation away from all external noise came in the form of a private executive restroom. This room was the one area in the whole building not subject to the music and lights of the club.

    Outside on the street the line to get into the club extended two blocks down Sunset Boulevard. Eric Sims had been the head bouncer for The Inferno since it opened ten months ago. He was the one responsible for making the decisions regarding who gained admittance and how much money it would take to change a rejection into an approval. Eric pocketed the money a group of eight women slipped him as they entered the club, replaced the velvet crowd-control cord on the pedestal and looked out among the crowd to inspect the next customer in line. A familiar face replaced the spot in line where the last of the women had stood. Although familiar, the face immediately sent tangible rage and frustration into his core.
    “Awe no, not you again!” Eric managed in a frustrated laugh.
    The lanky figure standing in front of him was smiling and, as opposed to the shy and nervous disposition displayed on previous nights, seemed unnervingly confident.
    “Listen man,” Eric said in an exasperated tone to the figure in front of him, “don’t make us throw your ass off the property again. Your money’s no good here so let’s not make a scene, all right?”
    The figure behind the velvet rope was a spindly fellow. His skin was extremely pale as if he had been indoors too long. Actually, it appeared as though he had been locked in a dark room too long. Way too long. Running his hands through his greasy, unkempt black hair, the man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if savoring the air as it filled his lungs. Reaching into a pocket of an oversized denim jacket he removed a metallic object which reflected in the lights of the club. Thinking it was a weapon, Eric was just about to call out a warning for the other bouncers and rush the man when he realized the object was a small digital camera.
    Breathing a sigh of relief Eric said, “What’s this? Candid Camera?”
    Slowly, methodically, the man raised the camera up to his right eye. Then, in a voice far deeper then would be expected for such a frail man, he said…almost hissed…
    “Smile….”
    It was at this point that the whole world went insane.

    Phillip washed his face in the marble sink at the far end of the restroom. He relished the feeling of the cool water running over his face, which never failed to revitalize him in the early hours of the morning. He patted his face and hands dry with the expensive terry cloth towels embroidered with his initials in gold thread. Strange to love a restroom