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On a typical night at Wish, my friends and I breezed through the non-line Friday and hiked up some stairs to a red-lit room with an industrial black ceiling, white curtains and sofas that surrounded the shoulder-to-shoulder sea of tights, tantrums and testosterone-chemically engineered or otherwise. It wasn't Halloween, but with the costumes and cover-ups going on, you wouldn't have known it. We did a lap around the place as the DJ spun the dance music of recent and of yesteryear. Girls in barely butt-covering dresses lured in sex-crazed males with their moves attempting not to show off their goodies. We spotted a chemically engineered musclehead wearing a skintight Armani v-neck and rosary beads. Rosary beads as a necklace, at the bar…perhaps an attempt to show the ladies that he really did have a soul, despite his perfectly rounded biceps and small head? The three bartenders did their best shuffling and liquor slinging to keep the crowd hydrated, but still it took a little time and/or some attention getting techniques to acquire a beverage. And, living up to its ultra lounge moniker, vodka-Red-Bulls were $9. Outside, the wraparound balcony, designated for the coffin-nail-lovers, overlooked the parking lot filled with Bentleys, Mercedes, and Audis. A few love sack sofas lined the window side.
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