Inside a private spiritual club in TriBeCa, Manhattan.
The sound of a singing bowl vibrated slowly through the air, which was filled with the indescribable scent of agarwood.
"Let us breeeeathe in... and breeeeathe out..." said a bald man in a white robe, sitting on a platform. "Feel the energy of the mystical chakras, and let our consciousness connect with the universe."
"DA-DA-DA-DA DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA—"
Suddenly, the default iPhone ringtone blared out, shattering the carefully crafted atmosphere. Everyone's eyes snapped open as they searched for the source of the sound.
"Whose phone is that?" The bald man opened his eyes, his face showing his displeasure. "Please silence your phone."
"Oh, my bad, my bad," a man said, raising his hands. "It's probably my ex-girlfriend reminding me to take my syphilis prevention pills. I'll turn it off right now. You go on."
Snickers and chuckles erupted from the crowd.
