Small sign on the front door.

The Orchid Room is a private club. Mamu, the huge Maori bouncer, is implacable, immoveable and everpresent. If you need anything, let us know. If the entertainment is not to your taste please let us know, we are very flexible and have significant resources of unusual skills.
Some of the world’s strangest gems have been found in its darkest corners.

7 Responses

  1. *walking up to the stage….tapping the microphone*

    “Is this even on??”

    *slowly strolls off the stage, hips rolling in indifference to the people watching the auditions*

  2. *coughs*
    may i have a margharita first?

  3. You may have whatever it is you desire, my dear, let me salt this glass,

  4. Both my legs will not stay upon the ground at the same time. If I have one foot on the ground the other is raised high in the air. Normally I have a glass of wine in my hand and am suffering from chest pain and/or Vertigo. My neck twitches and I often have a difficult time holding down ordinary conversation with people. I immediatly want to get to the deep stuff.

    “Why are we alive?” I ask with one or two feet raised in the air. “What is the purpose of living and why not spend our days in long periods of meditation?” The answers are always the same. “Hmm??” I have to drink more to feel grounded. The world often leaves me filled up with fear and a deep longitudinal feeling that there is no place for a stranger like me to go.

  5. I lock eyes with the guy at the mic, his oozing sadness filling my soul and my heart. With each word that flows from his lips, his voice echos, bouncing off of the shabby walls of this dive, and seemingly upset the bulky ice cubes in my weak vodka tonic.

    The room is still. I listen, connected to his story and to his experience, but I feel the distance between us growing, as my mind wanders, and my own voice becoming even more alien.

  6. dive, my darling, this is no dive, this is the orchid room and only the best–THE BEST–are here!

    my dear, my dear, let your mind wander, let your lips wander, let your hips wonder, let let let deep breath yourself discover

    what is beyond your breath

    drink deep baby drink deep

    there is no life beyond this

    tequila straight, good, light salt, good, fresh lime, good

    it’s all good

  7. I just came in from sailing and put the Barkentine in port…I’m drunk and Mamu made me hand over my pistol and my Bowie knife…not that I care…I’m not here to fight. I’m looking for a man in a grey fedora…a piano player. I have a bottle of single malt scotch in my hand…which I was protecting with the gun and knife…so now I bequeath that duty to Mamu as I roam about the room. I’m told the piano player isn’t here anymore…he isn’t anywhere…and a silent tear trickles down a sea-worn, weathered cheek to fall as a spot upon a tan leather boot. I pull my hat from my head with a fisted hand and limp to a corner table…all eyes are on me but I huff and flop into the booth, twisting the lid from my bottle as I go.

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