I follow. My feet move like bumper cars on the dance floor. Not everyone paid for this ride and I’m headed for a carnival DUI . I let the liquor get me into this and clearly I have to rely on it to get me out…

Sonja’s neckline seems to drop with every minor-key step – as if according to my will. The ice clinks in my glass and I stutter-step to my own broken rhythm, try to keep up without tipping over, disappearing into my highball glass. I’m not sure I can hang with this woman, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

The look in her eyes tells me she’d like me to try. Not as a challenge, but as a beckoning. A need. Just short of desperation.

I blink. Whince.

Suddenly this game isn’t any fun anymore. Apparently ‘just short of’ may as well not be there. Yea, I could do what needs to be done for tonight, but that wick’s burned pretty short over the last few months and the liquor’s way too weak to compete. The sticky next-day mop-up isn’t worth the trouble.

I excuse myself to the bathroom. No plans to return.