
"Nice dress," I said to the girl waiting in front of me in the bathroom line.
"Usually, yes," she said. "But this is definitely a fat mirror. Move closer to it and you get skinny. Go back and you're fat again."
I tried. Forward: skinny. Back: fat. Skinny, fat, fat, skinny.
"What's the band tonight?" she asked.
"Smiths cover band."
"What's that?"
"Never mind."
"Sorry," she said, pulling up a stool and removing the Colt 40 from her purse. "I'm already drunk."
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