The room is swathed in burning orange synthleather. A muscleguy stands by the 
bar on the right. Beside him, a biff in white spandex and heels sits on a tall 
stool. She’s either a decker or a whore, probably both. Both rent sockets. The
man on the sofa at the rear of the room has slicked-back hair, a skinny little 
mustache, and is wearing a black tieless suit. He’s called Nickels. One eyebrow
flares upward as he spots the Kang. He flashes a smile as the muscleguy ahead of 
Tikki drops to the floor.