Oyster Parlor
It’s 3am. All the dives are closed. You’re trying to hit the bodega to grab some brews. In the distance, you see her. A solid 5 is dressed in some fishnets and bad ideas. You take her home. Smash. Later, after a pump and dump, she peels her clam apart. That sticky noise? That’s the oyster parlor.
“Bruh last night, that girl? Smashed. But now all I can think about is the after party, her oyster parlor.”