You could always tell the strippers when they walked in (especially in Cambridge).  You could especially tell when they talked.   They all had that Smoker’s Voice…you know the one?  The one that makes them sound like the Bouvier sisters?  And they all had skin the colour and texture of my jacket.

Anyway, they’d call you “hun”, or “love” or whatever. As in, would you like a bag? “No, thanks hun.”

Then they’d laugh…a big barrel “HAAA HA HA HA!” laugh, buy some dance music shit for their show, and be out the door.   They’d be back every month or so to buy updated music for their acts, and they’d tell you that’s what they were buying it for.

Man, I miss the old days!