My thigh highs were beige and I couldn't get past the feeling that the colour of nylon somehow was significant, although the thought didn't make any logical sense.

Samantha called a taxi and fifteen minutes later, another glass of wine downed, we were heading to The Pit.

Once there, I said, having been there a couple times, years ago, "This used to be Cohen's Pub."

"Yep, but the new name is a lot more logical," Samantha said, as Candace and I got out.

Candace pulled me aside outside and warned, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to in there."

"Of course," I said, finding a worried, concerned...