Vincenti

Bum! Bum! Thump! Thump! Dunna-na nuh-nuh nah-nah! The baseline blares down the block, thumping in your chest. The line stretches farther with girls in skimpy dresses and towering heels. The smell of beer and cheap perfume lingers in the staunch city air . You stumble towards the back of the queue, walking your own fine line between wasted and shitfaced. Your friends Estelle and Bebe went hard with the pre-game. That Bicardi almost knocked you out in the backseat on the way here . Bebe starts dancing in line, the music loud enough outside even through the walls. Estelle is already sampling the hot guys in front of you, breaking out her signature lip biting flirting technique. You're just leaning sideways against the brick wall, trying to remember how to breathe . The bouncers walk down the line outside, checking IDs and searching pockets and bags for security. There's a $5 cover charge once you get your wrist stamped at the front. The club is called Ronnie's Place and you've never been there before . Vincenti works as a bouncer at Ronnie's Place