Bloody hell, I’m hallucinating. Sally thought as she stumbled down the creaking stairwell and into the barren Klub ( Read more... )

A man of about thirty years of age, tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with sharply handsome features, approaches the Kit Kat Klub in the middle of the day. A breeze whips the hem of his unbuttoned wool overcoat around his legs. His steps are careful, cautious, almost hesitant and wary, as if someone he knew might catch him lurking. Sidling up to the window ( Read more... )

Gulping down her third gin of the evening Sally sets the empty glass down atop a prop table as she waits within the tiny dark wings of the Kit Kat Klub stage ( Read more... )

Even for a place like the Klub, Mondays were always horridly dead. It was so dead, in fact, that the stage act had been reduced to one of the girls standing behind a white sheet lacklusterly flailing a regular with a penchant for S&M. Thank god that particular patron hadn't chosen him for a change. He wasn't feeling in the mood for a boy tonight ( ( Read more... )

For some reason or another, the Klub was quieter tonight than it had been in a while. Maybe it was reality seeping in through the door, or something important happening somewhere in Berlin. Whatever it was, they were unaware of it - or pretended to be. It was their job to pretend - to make the customer forget or laugh at their troubles, even if ( Read more... )

Nigel has been in the Kit Kat Klub all of ten minutes and he's already set to leave. He feels woefully out of place and overdressed, rather, in his neat suit and wool overcoat as he gazes around at the shabby tables, shabby chairs, shabby floors, half-naked men and women sashaying on and off the stage or engaged in obscene trysts in corner booths ( Read more... )

When: Afternoon prior to opening
Where: Klub
Who: Open to Staff ( Read more... )

Green fingernails scratch and tug at the heavy street doors of the Kit Kat Klub.

Well, really! When did they start bothering to LOCK these doors?

Huffing and blowing a blonde curl from her eyes, the familiar woman-wearing an unfamiliar grey fur coat-straightened her small decorative hat and snatched up a large carpet bag from the sidewalk.

Someone ( Read more... )

Perched at the bar alone, for the moment, Dolores Marroquin nursed the last of a glass of red wine someone had bought her and watched the band onstage through the haze of her own cigarette smoke ( Read more... )

*It is near closing time at the Klub. The large crowds of the early evening that had swelled in earlier to avoid the cold have more or less gone home to the warmths of their nightly pick-ups or to sleep it off for the inevitable hang-overs of the following morning. All that remains is the usual group of regulars and sleepy drunks. A few of the ( Read more... )