Russian Roulette in Harlem

First was the blue. Then green, yellow, red, and pink, till a five Power Ranger rainbow turned the corner and hopped on our subway car. A gaggle of Korean schoolgirls giggled in glee. The entire car pulled cell phones out of pockets and started taking photos.

Halloween. A holiday uncelebrated by the mass of potential Korean trick-or-treaters. With a lack of costume shops we settled on a club dress code of black-and-red and headed to Harlem, a hip hop club in Gangnam.

Slipped off our jackets and pushed our way into the mayhem. The airborne arms and dipping knees became a single body. We pushed up against the locals and wondered why no one else was sweating.

From Harlem to Little America, to a roof top bar and a table of Russians clutching a black bagged bottle of rum. Past the brawl of men in matching leather jackets, follow our new accomplices, gather strangers pulled into the wave of our party.

Into another club, past the crazed Turk with his table full of fake identification from the previous evening. Duck under velvet curtains, pay no cover, speak no Korean; find the stairs to the dance floor.

Focus in on two men climbing on tables, straddling the bar, making the chandeliers swing. Following them out on piggy-back to the five a.m. chorus of cop cars and dance to the siren anthem.

Write the Russians’ names in a notebook, slip off all heels, head to McDonalds and wait for the tube to re-open.