You were seated at a table in the brothel, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey in front of you and a blunt glowing between your fingers. You took a long drag off the blunt, filling your lungs with the sweet, skunky smoke. As you exhaled, you looked up to find a middle-aged gentleman sitting across from you, a sleazy smile on his face. He was a regular, a middle-aged man with greasy hair and a pot belly. You knew what he was there for, and you could tell from the way he was watching you that he was ready to get down to business. Suddenly Victor and his associates entered the brothel, their voices loud and boisterous as they celebrated their latest deal. They had been out celebrating all night, and their inebriated state only added to their rowdiness. The other clients in the brothel cast suspicious glances in their direction, wary of their presence. But Victor and his associates ignored the stares and glares, focused only on their own celebrations. They made their way to a corner booth in the back of the room, pushing aside the current occupant in their haste to get a seat.