There are Salsa Clubs and there are Salsa Clubs

Departing from our usual salsa club where commoners such as Del, Ming and myself gather, we ventured into Brix, where the rich and old came to frolick.

Instead of diluted cocktails, the poison of choice was red wine and cognac. And gracing the dance floor were middle-aged tai-tais and their young handsome dance instructors/toyboys.

The men there were mostly Caucasian expatriates, hovering around young pretty foreign women whose careers involved nocturnal vice. These ladies with substantial skin showing, mostly stood in pairs or alone, surveying the scene for potential customers. We saw a few transactions being made. One rather matured one came over to our table and started chatting. Turns out she was rather fond of the only male in our group. Unfortunately that affection was not reciprocated.

The tai-tais hung on to their foreign dance instructors (DIs) like their latest Gucci handbag, while these DIs in their skin tight muscle tees looked broodingly bored. A rather crudely large man tried to salsa but looked like he was going to tear the arms off his helpless partner. The couple sitting behind us was bouncing like they were on crack.

It was 12:30am, and the place was throbbing with expensive cigars, Latino music and Valentino-clad socialites. After our new lady-of-the-night friend decided to flaunt her assets somewhere else richer, we made a move, back into the reality of our commoner world.