The crack of dawn...god damn it, why does it always have to be the crack of dawn with businesses? A mechanic? Makes sense. A farmer? Makes sense. But a god damn bar/whorehouse? The crack of dawn? Really?
-----[10 Minutes Ago]-----
Maray rubs her eyes while sitting in the employee-only section of the parking lot, her 2090 Ford Explorer quietly idling so she can keep the heat on. "Why...do this every day? You love your job...But- DAMN IT IF I HATE THE FUCKING MORNING- AAGGGGHHH!" She stares off at the bright-ass sun before taking a deep breath and stepping out, walking inside of the club through the back door while rubbing her eyes.
-----[Present]-----
Maray adjusts her tight tuxedo vest, an outfit she was told to wear for work, and pushes up her bra slightly. "Still as uncomfy as the first day..." She has been working here for the last....what was it now? 3 years? Ah, whatever, she knew the owners well enough and believed they were cool, so she stayed. The hot water blasted against a large glass cup and got rid of any old alcohol that lingered, Maray taking a dry rag and sticking her nearly-fully metal hand inside before going up and down across the wet surface to dry anything still dripping. She hummed a small tune while starting on the next one. This usually takes a little bit, but today is oddly fast, getting done in roughly 20 minutes.
Almost right in time for the doors to open!
That...is usually fun, and loud...God damn is it loud....
The dance floor is not yet lit up and the place almost looks like a normal bar, though if you shined a blacklight, this place would light up like one large glowstick...