The blurry blonde stick sitting by herself is looking mighty tempting to Teddy tonight.

He sets his beer down and knudges his wingman, says, “Look at that one.” The two peer through the bouncing crowd at her and decide that she is a worthy conquest, assuming that she’ll look at least half as good up close as she does from all the way over here.

Bad move, Teddy.

He finishes his gin and tonic, spits the ice cube back in to the cup, and squeezes out of the booth. He runs his hands through his hair, excuses himself as he tries to get across the dance floor, never taking his eyes off the pretty mass of unrecognizable flesh at the bar.

The bar is a crowded, sweaty hole in the wall called Busbys sandwiched between a grocer and a comedy club on the seedy side of town. The mood is half roaring twenties, with gilded age banisters, framed black and white photos on the wall and a gaudy marble bar, half two-AM, find-someone-to-fuck-before-last-call kind of joint.

All these flashing lights and smoke effects, they’re making it very difficult for the people in the bar to all render at the same time. People are dancing with faceless blocks, drinking from props that pop in and out of existence. The music is the only consistent thing in the whole damn room.

Teddy makes his way to the girl at the bar and sidles up next to her. She turns towards him, her gigantic pink nose rendering, her bloodshot eyes flickering on bright and her lips chapping before him. She’s a hideous, stringy witch of a woman, twenty pounds heavier than any other girl at the bar. A being worthy of being alone, especially at a place like this.

“How are you here?” Teddy blurts out, an unfortunate choice of words, but he doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to be talking to this woman at all.

She smiles and sips from her Long Island. “I’ve been here all night, handsome.”

Teddy’s jaw clenches and he peels himself off the bar. The music rattles his bones and his shirt is drenched in a cold, mysterious drink.

The bathroom is the only refuge for a man gravely mistaken. It’s small, and because it’s small, it’s easily taken in all at once. The walls are crystal clear, the men at the stalls have distinct faces and discernable stains on their suit jackets.

Teddy stares at himself in the mirror, unsure if the woman standing behind him is a nightmare or reality. It’s real – he feels her touch on his back. She grabs him and turns him towards her.

“I knew you were the one for me, even though I didn’t know what you looked like until you were, like, two inches from my face, “ she says.

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” he replies.

It’s too late. They’re making out in the men’s room and Teddy is too drunk to stop it. He has the imagination to pretend she’s someone else, much prettier, an impressive feat that proves to be less impressive the following morning, when he wakes up in an absurdly warm chamber of porcelain horrors, next to a girl who is photo realistic in only the most terrible ways.