Green lasers were flashing from the ceiling, as if they were frantically trying to take someone’s eye out, and of course there were too many people at the main bar for us to get our drinks. The standing tables near the DJ booth were empty because the speakers nearby were so loud. We set up there. While the members of T-ara each had the heart of a delicate girl, we were mostly giants over five foot nine. We tried our darndest to go easy on the mincing and keep our shoulders wide and straight as we downed our tequila, our eyes rolling from side to side as we surreptitiously took in the scene. But soon, we were knocking it back: “Hey guys, slow down.” “We’re gonna get plastered.” “Hey, Boram, you’re already tilting. I said slow down.” “Wait, where’s Eun-jung gone?” “Ah, fuck it. Let’s get drunk.” So-yeon, whose liver was relatively healthy as he was in his twenties, overestimated his capacity a little too much and ended up dumping drinks down his throat like it was some overflowing sewer. And lo, the prophecy “We’re gonna get plastered” came to pass.

That was when I noticed the bartender who was trying to keep up with the demand for shots. Shorn hair, cute guy. What did the neon letters hanging above his head say?

Don’t be a drag. Just be a queen.

The speakers were pounding J.Lo and Pitbull’s “On the Floor” directly onto our eardrums.

—Hey, DJ! Why the fuck do I have to listen to “On the Floor” at a fucking gay club?

Ji-yeon, the super-muscular guy with the prettiest face and shittiest temper of us all, went up to the DJ booth and screamed, in his amazingly loud voice, for him to put on some T-ara right this minute, but the DJ continued to look full of himself, pretending to be all serious with one side of his headphones held up to his ear. Didn’t this pretentious fuck play the same old tired club mix every single week? Look, asshole, is this America or Korea? Answer me. Answer me, goddamnit! Ji-yeon was close to swiping the nerd’s face with one of his paws. Boram and I each held onto one of Ji-yeon’s arms, but he was a big girl at six feet and 185 pounds. Then suddenly, something flashed before my eyes, and when I came to, I heard T-ara screaming behind me. Or I heard them too late: Ji-yeon’s elbow had busted my lip.

A face came right up to mine through the spinning stars and canaries. Very short hair, long eyes with uncreased lids. Hey, it’s that bartender, no? I could see more of his pupils than the whites of his eyes, which made him look like an alien, and my face was reflected in them. I looked pathetic and numb and even a bit lonely.