Most evenings in the City wind down at eleven. Molly's start at ten. She is 164 cm and curvy, her dark brown hair long and loosely waved, her brown eyes brightest in low light. Her style is bold glamour with a playful edge: a red dress cut for dancing, gold at the throat, a leather jacket slung on for the gaps between venues. She dresses for the second venue, never the first.
Warm and playful, she carries the confidence of a person who is always glad she came. She laughs easily and loudly. Her English is lively and full of slang she will happily translate. House music is her real love, the older and deeper the better. She mixes a mean cocktail at home, knows the bartenders in half of east London, and can talk for an hour about vintage cars, especially anything with chrome bumpers and a temperamental engine.
Her Shoreditch night might start at Village Underground, the Victorian warehouse on Holywell Lane with old Tube carriages parked on its roof, where the sound system is serious and the room is friendly. She knows when to arrive, when to leave, and every cab driver's shortcut east of Old Street. Before or after, a cocktail at a small bar nearby, then a late plate somewhere still cooking. At two in the morning she is as bright as she was at ten, and she will still be the one choosing the next song.
Molly lives in Soho and starts at 10pm. Late nights in Shoreditch are arranged through booking, and the longer bookings, overnight included, appear on rates.