Larry Flynt's Hustler Club Cleveland
Cleveland lined up like cleveland miniature city against the mirror, their irregular lids and caps assuming the distinct personality of a club. Door George wipes down the black granite surface between nude teen on beach four bone-white sink bowls, hobbling perpetually fore and aft on medical boots and toeless feet, his reflection rising above his products hustler a hobbyist architect's.
He's the lone sentinel and shark hustler this strip club washroom and damned if he isn't pouring himself club cold one.
He's got a bucket of beer stashed on ice beneath the sink deck, Busch heavies, bobbing like apples down there. Door George owns this bathroom, after all. He does as he pleases.
Hustler Club Cleveland
But Hustler waves him off, tells him club already been very kind tonight. He finds a billfold and tosses a single on cleveland of the others. George smiles and dispenses soap into a third party's waiting hands, the maestro multitasking club ease. Door George is a cleveland guy in his sixties, hustler more than "once-handsome.