The man stood in front of the double doors. Black t-shirt. Dark jeans. White joggers. Lanyard. Hand outstretched.

“ID?”

Both of the women were old enough that being asked for ID was a novelty, so they didn’t have their cards ready.

After receiving them, the man began his scrutiny, using his phone torch to see them clearly. Their delight at being asked sharply dipped into annoyance as they waited in the cold. Neither were dressed for the weather: their looks were curated for a crowded dance floor.

The man tilted the phone torch up to see their faces, blinding them briefly. He nodded, handed back their IDs and stepped aside.

The woman opened the doors, blinking in the warmly-lit hallway. Ahead was a set of glass doors, where a man stood in a grey suits with a lanyard.

“ID please”

Outside, the man walked briskly down the street, looking at the video on his phone. He paused on the shot of the two women looking surprised, then rewound and zoomed in on the addresses on their ID.