Sheldon in Honduras

The music is just a bit too loud. The cigarette smoke is just a bit too thick. The place is just a bit too perfect. One can think in silence, in shorthand, and breathe the pure oxygen of civilisation.

Enveloped in the bossa nova rhythm, the girls kiss, audibly, with a cigarette tucked between two fingers. The lighting is cinematic, the smoke natural, the red deep and soft, the blue distant, the soundtrack muted orange. The patrons traverse; ever polite, the waiters manoeuvre, assist, never serve.