He wasn’t really picky. He was the drummer of an on-the-other-side-of-the-tracks bar band that played on Tuesday nights. It was now Wednesday morning. He woke up and saw the lump next to him. He found some red fingernails on the sink. He relieved himself. He returned to bed, to find the lump next to him with nothing on. He saw the long blond hair. He thought – “I didn’t do so badly.” He pulled back the covers, ready to do what he couldn’t remember.