The whole thing runs on a weird pool hall logic where the balls don't scatter right but nobody cares because the girl on the felt is doing this slow, deliberate thing with her top. Real model, they say, and you can tell. Not in a glossy magazine way. More like someone filmed their neighbor who does amateur nights at the local bar. The skin texture catches the overhead lamp wrong sometimes, a bit flat, a bit too smooth where real flesh would bunch up. But then she shifts her weight and the hip bone juts out just so and you forget about rendering entirely.

The billiard table is just set dressing. A green rectangle that exists to give her something to lean against while the strip routine plays out. There's this one moment where she's supposed to line up a shot and the cue stick phases through her thigh. I laughed. Not mocking, exactly. More like when a cat misses a jump and pretends it meant to do that. The game doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is, which is refreshing. Two girls, sometimes. The lesbian tag is there but it's more of a vibe than a plot. They orbit each other without much heat, like they're both waiting for someone to call action.

The striptease mechanics are barebones. Click to advance. Sometimes a button. The pacing is all wrong in the middle section where she gets stuck in a loop of adjusting her stockings for what feels like forever. I started thinking about the physics of pool chalk, how it's basically micro-abrasives in a binder, and then she finally moved on to the bra clasp and I forgot what I was thinking about. That's the thing with these games. They don't need to be good. They just need to hit at the right moment. This one does, mostly, when it's not getting tangled in its own underwear.