See, I wasn't kidding about Mike's place. Vaguely threatening monsters loomed in the dark corners, even more scary than the commissar who guards the front door at the Warehouse.
Here's an actual photo of Mike, blowing bubbles. This is apparently what happens when bubbles are photographed at a slow shutter speed. Except the whole night kind of looked like this. I think the punch was probably spiked. Wait! OMG! That wasn't punch! That was the model's washing-up bucket!
Okay, models don't have washing-up buckets. I was just trying to disgust those of you who made it past the week-old yam remark without running for the bathroom gagging. I love it when that happens.