A place where no one enters and no one leaves; where smokey air shadows the patronage into a hazy hue of deep purple. Neon rods in rich pinks and royal blues cast a glow upon the eyes surrounding you, making them bright against the anonymity of their forms. It is bright but it is also dark.

    Wild trees twist up into the ceiling, their branches pressing and breaking through the reflective surface of the roof. It supports the building and makes it even more eerie. The smoke and dim lights make you feel sleepy, your eyes mesmerized by the neon and the haze begins to set over you. You sit in a room that seems not to exist as you pour coloured sugar crystals into the cup of coffee you don’t remember ordering. It tints pink in the light of the flamingo stained glass light sitting above you, buzzing noisily. There are many people there, none of whom you recognize; strangers in a familiar place. You know you have never been here before but it feels so surreal it might hold truth.

    A city that never sleeps lies awake in an alternative state; the weary rest with eyes wide open. Overstimulation pulsing in your brain as slot machines ring at the front of the diner. Where is this? A realm that is not our own wraps it’s tendrils around your fried brain and compels you to buy another drink; after all, you deserve it.

    The smell of slightly rotting orange slices for cocktails and charring meat billows through the winding booths and tables; a perfect figure eight looping endlessly through time. The clock moved slowly, ticking over and over; a second lasting a minute. There is no time; no ambitions. A state of nothing. Only breathing but nothing else.

     Your heart slows to a crawl as the haze thickens; absorbing your body into a shadowed figure with white eyes. White eyes which peer through tinted, slightly glittered windows with a soft glow in the moonlight. An angler fish luring new townies and tourists into this establishment.

No one enters and no one leaves. That is why it always seems busy; they simply add to their collection. Ever growing; hungry for fresh meat, the walls creak in protest at the hunger. What better place to find food?

    Always open; schools of fish fall for the lights and mistake it for safety. They flock for shelter and food, but your soul and flesh will be on the menu tonight. Empty husks line the windows; moving sluggishly as jazz music drowns out the terror.

           No one enters and no one leaves.