Green Room

The look: legwarmers, sunglasses at night, neon. The sound: TV on the radio, Hot Hot Heat, Wet, Wet, Wet. The feel: Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty. Cockeyed girls in bedazzled berets stumble the foot-and-a-half from the bar to the dance-floor, pint in hand -ne'er a drop spilled. Silly boys in tuques cast guileless glances at said girls before settling for some random bump n'grind on said dance-floor. Jagermeister-laden bodies collide, eardrums are blasted and moves are busted 'til feet bleed. All that matters is the music. And the cheap beer.