Life sucks. Everyone knows this. Of course, life sucks most for the models. All those castings and photo shoots and cocaine-fueled orgies and whatnot! How do they do it?! Well, things are finally looking up, thanks to the "Model Lounge."
What's the Model Lounge, you ask? Well it's this place downstairs, like, underneath this other place in SoHo called Delicatessen, which is just like this other place called Cafeteria, but whatever, and it's, like, a private club for models only. You have to have a membership card that says "Model" on it to get in, so models and only models can go down there between castings and text message the dudes they met at Avenue last night and accidentally sucked off in the back of a cab, or fix their makeup, or talk about how so and so is such a bitch and they just can't stand her. You know, model-y stuff.
The Model Lounge is a really cool place because before the Model Lounge opened, back in the old days, models would have to go to the Starbucks at the corner of Spring and Crosby to kill time between castings and then be around all those gross non-model type people and the hobos shooting up in the bathroom, holding up the freaking line all damn day, not to mention the fact that there's this creepy, gay, British new media overlord who has an apartment across the street, and he's always just lurking in the shadows.
But not anymore! Now they have the "Model Lounge," and the New York Post sent the intrepid Justin Rocket Silverman down to investigate and now he's the only human with a penis who will ever get to enter the Model Lounge in the history of the world.