You take another look at yourself in the mirror once you're fully dressed, stunned by how unbelievably sexy you look. Just to be safe, you wait a few minutes more before finally opening the door again and stepping through. You don't think anyone who saw you before stuck around, but you get a lot of wolf whistles and applause either way. Trying your best to ignore it, you close the door behind you and just head down the street at a brisk pace.
Within the first minute you learn five new vulgar pickup lines and have two different guys "accidentally" stumble into your chest. Speaking of, those jiggle physics are a lot more pronounced in your latest new body, to the point you worry that if you had to start running you'd keep smacking yourself in the chin. Weirdly enough, you don't have any problem at all with the heels on the boots you're wearing. You've heard plenty of women talk about balance issues, since you're essentially tiptoeing, but for whatever reason it feels as natural as if you were barefoot.
The longer you walk, the more you realize you underprepared, but the door's gone again, and it's pretty clear your emergency exit trick from before isn't the correct way of doing things. This setting is close enough to the real world you feel like you really are just wandering the streets of some unfamiliar city. Except you have no cash, no phone, and no idea what to do with yourself. You can't just keep aimlessly wandering the streets like this. You still get just as tired here as in the real world, and there's no way you're going to just sleep in some alley somewhere. It's clear you're going to need a place to stay. It should be easy enough to find some cheap motel if you look, but you need some way to pay them, and you can't go searching for job listings without a cell phone... or a wrist-mounted computer, or wire in your head or however things work here.
You put your back against a shiny glass wall, staring up at the noisy ad filled skyline lost in thought. More than a few of the locals make it very clear how you could make some quick cash, and you quickly escalate the severity of your replies to the point where you're about to punch someone in the face.
"Hey, hey! I didn't mean it like that!" says the latest, A skinny guy with metal studs forming two lines across his temples and more chains on his jacket than a jewelry store. "There's a club just around the corner, always on the lookout for new dancers. You've got a hell of a look, and it's one of the safer ways around here to make some quick creds."
You stop yourself just before balling up your first to throw that punch. He has a point. If this is some sort of cyberpunk game, odds are good the only other way to make some cash would be some dangerous criminal mercenary work. You have too much sense of self-preservation and too little of a handle on how things work around here to want to risk that. "OK, let's see it," you say, surprised by the sound of your own voice, but trying not to let it show.
The club is, admittedly, quite a sight. Blaring techno, some crazy lighting system where there's just this mild glow of cycling neon color that keeps everything shadowy but no so dark you can't see where you're going, and the whole place is just this sort of amphitheater of raised balconies and bars surrounding a central stage lit with colored spotlights. You're not too thrilled to see the big metal pole sticking out of the center, but... it's as honest a job as you can get, right?