Story Mode

Handheld first-person, your eyes. The woman from the photo is already in front of you, holding your hand, face readable, body in frame. Friday night at Deep Dive Bar, a working neon strip club, packed wall to wall. You come in through a low red doorway and the room hits you at once — haze, bass, a main stage with a runway show already going, dancers working more than one pole, every table around the stage full, bottles and ice buckets, cocktail waitresses cutting between chairs, money on the stage lip. You have to turn sideways through the crowd. Mirrored walls, wet black floor, a second smaller stage running on the left, VIP booths along the back already occupied. She pulls you along the edge of the stage, past the bar packed three-deep, into a private booth that still looks out on the busy floor. She stays dressed and in the foreground the whole way, glancing back, pulling you with her. She sits or turns and looks straight into the camera. Hold on her face.