It was halfway down the street when I realized I’d left my dignity behind. Luckily, I wouldn’t need it where I was going. Like any decent nightlife writer, I occasionally feel duty-bound to take a small step into Hong Kong's most popular bars and clubs. The road to Hell is indeed paved with good intentions. Though in the case of D’Aguilar Street, it’s merely lined with the drunk. And heavily made-up. And far too sexy-looking for their own good. I was mostly here at my friend’s behest and my good intentions were rapidly evaporating. Hell was a mere few meters ahead; Hell was also no longer on fire, but on the must-see list of Hong Kong’s entire finance sector. I, of course, know better than to leave my house any more sober than “not at all.” Several vodka-limes have however failed to help me function as one with the crowd zealously milling outside a club they hoped to gain entry into. Mm... hive mind. I tap into it. Apparently, milling is best done in crowds of 30 or more, preferably to hip-hop music such as that R. Kelly fellow. Let me go, I consider groaning, I’ll be of no use to you here for I know not how to behave as wing-woman. I imagine my friend’s response: Aw c’mon, I haven’t gotten laid in two months! Besides, all you have to do is distract the ugly friend, gurl! LOLz!!1! In my desperate mind, she turned into the misspelling, netspeak-abusing sixteen-year-old I imagined inhabited such places. She’s really a lovely girl though. Now she’s batting her violently mascara’d lashes at the immovable hulk guarding the doorway to heaven, or some other place where you can pay almost $100 for the privilege of having your vodka-lime mixed for you. In we’re ushered, only for the stench of Issey Miyake to sneak up behind me and ask if I come here a lot. I don’t. Interest stymied, it wanders off again. The hive mind wants me to know that the appropriate response to most songs is to wave my arms in the air like I just don’t care. I try it and it feels suspiciously like I do. Oh, what the hell. Faced with the dilemma of whether to go home and quite possibly miss the Best Night Ever, or stay out with the definite requirement of grooving my booty, I choose... tequila. Nope, won’t need dignity where I’m going.