Paul Allen's Going Away Party

Sometimes I wish I was a better writer so I could paint a better picture of what happens in Romania. Nothing I can put into words will do it justice.
Last night we went to a club called Heaven Studio. If anyone has seen American Psycho they'll remember the scene where he is in the club and is asked to pay cash for his drinks etc. Well, that is what Heaven is like. No pun intended.
We were with some of our friends from the door; two French girls, a Polish girl and some Spanish guys. We walked in and were immediately stopped by the bouncers just inside the door. They pointed vehemently to a sign that we couldn't read in a language we barely understand. It had a rather universal message though; women get in free, men pay 20RON. This, moreso than anything else, should have warned us of what was to come.
We checked our coats into the cloakroom (after emptying them of anything valuable) and made our way into the club. As soon as we passed through the archway we were engulfed by noise. The beat was so dense I could feel it in my chest and the bassline was a dull, fuzzy drone lying underneath Eastern European style synths.
Huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling (somewhat remiscent of a club I visited in another life) and the green beams of lasers bounced and refracted of any polished surface. There was an intermittent strobe light that signified when the "good" part of the song was about to kick in. All the while girls dressed only in dignity and underwear danced on raised podiums and peered down at the gawpers with derision.
Around the circumference of the dancerflood there were raised seated areas where people who know people who know people get to sit in relative comfort and order drinks from more girls who dance their way through the gaggle of commoners on the ground.
Everything was shrouded in a pale blue/green hue.
The bar was a large kidney shaped ordeal with male barstaff dancing and pouring drinks for whoever flashed enough cash. After flashing the appropriate amount of cash Dave and I tried to navigate our way around the club. We met the people we came with, briefly, and then ordered more drinks. They don't give change in these clubs, tips are assumed.
We came home, we watched peep show and wallowed in our own hedonism. I didn't have a bad night. In fact, I'd say I had a good night. Nothing was lost, the tattered remains of my dignity remain tattered but intact and my hangover today seems to be subsiding. I may have travelled 2000 miles, but hangovers feel the same in every country. It's like getting a hug from a familiar loved one; they assure you that everything will be alright, not to worry and to stay in bed as they stab the inside of your brain with knitting needles.
It's difficult to concentrate in the city of the future.