Whenever I visit an American city for the first time, I usually find a place like this close to my hotel, right in the center of downtown. Big, bawdy and kinda wonderful in its antiquated signage. In Seattle, the place was called Showgirls, a festival of purple and pink that was, I'm sure, named long before the Elizabeth Berkley film gave showgirls a bad name.
It's actually called Deja Vu Showgirls, for reasons I can not fathom. ("Wait a minute! I feel like I've seen that pole-dancer before!) I have no idea what the history of the place is—strip clubs aren't generally big on nostalgia. And I don't know what it looks like inside; ain't gonna happen, folks. I just like the big cheesy sign. And the old building it's attached to. And that the Military get free cover on Sundays. And that you can't buy alcohol inside owing to Seattle law.