Entering through the heavy steel door, we passed down a hallway and into a rather cold , dark warehouse of a place. A few tables along the wall, a long bar, a few couches gathered in one corner. It was a Tuesday night, so the place wasn't too crowded. Still, a hostess greeted us, and insisted on seating us in a controlled fashion. She selected one of the empty couches, and we sat down. As far as I could tell, this was not a restaurant. No food was served. This was a bar. Yet, we had to be seated by a hostess -- no a couch. I was thinking that perhaps we should have called ahead to reserve one of the better-positioned couches.

The crowd was pedestrian East Village and college types; nothing spectacular. A too-well dressed, European-accented couple on the adjacent couch suggested we order a Baily's and Grand Marnier. On the other side of us, a preppie couple with shoes off reclined on the couch, making out.

A couple walked in and was seated at a nearby table against the wall. The woman wore business attire and the man in a long coat; both carried briefcases. They drew no attention.

After a while, I happened to glance over, and noticed that they were now hunched over a laptop computer -- he was pointing to the screen and explaining something. I turned my gaze, then did a double take. It was pretty dark, but I noticed that the man's coat was now off, and he bare back was turned toward me. He had no shirt on; in fact, there was some kind of leather collar around his neck. I just shrugged, and turned my attention back to my own couch and my drink. But I couldn't help wondering what sort of digital data that couple was poring over.

After a while, the couple was preparing to leave. When the man got up, his bare buttocks presented themselves to the room. He appeared to be wearing nothing more than a leather g-string and a dog collar. He put on his coat and they walked out, as calmly as they had walked in. And I'm sure by that point most of the people in the bar were wondering -- what was on his PowerBook?