“WELCOME TO THE HONEY Pot!” Trey said as he gripped my arm and led me through the red curtain, perfume and smoke as thick as the velvet. The loud music and the warm flashing lights provided aggressively synthetic comfort. Everything was sticky and sickly sweet.

“I got forty dollars in ones,” Trey said, handing me a stack of crumpled money. It was damp.

“How about you just keep it?”

“No, no, no. We’re at the Honey Pot!” he said, shoving it into my chest. “You can pay me back tomorrow.”

“Where is Cal?” I asked.

“Late,” he answered. “Come on, let’s get our party on!” He snapped his fingers in the air, and a waitress came over. “Three Jäger shots, please,” he said, clapping me on the back.

I grimaced.

“It’s the house specialty!”

I felt a buzz in my pocket and, without knowing anything about the message, was grateful for it.

“Trey, I gotta answer this; it might be Cal,” I said, holding up my beeper.

“Hurry back,” he said. “Or I might need to drink your shot!”

When I got through the crowd and out the front door, the air almost tasted fresh. Not quite, but almost. You know that feeling when you’re in a theater or the subway and you really have to cough, but you’re doing everything you can to keep it in? That’s how the air feels in Hell, all of the time. Even so, when I got out that door, I looked up, some ancient part of me still hoping to see stars.

“Pey!”

I checked the line, which had grown since I arrived. Cal was there, smashed between a crowd of men with thick rings on even thicker fingers. I pulled her forward.

“She’s with me,” I said.

The bouncer looked me up and down and, after an excruciatingly long time, gave the smallest of nods. I pulled Cal past him and through the front doors, the smoke and fog of the club hitting me as hard as waking up in the bathtub.

“They wouldn’t let me in without a man,” she said, smoothing her work shirt.

“I didn’t choose this place.”

“Oh, hey there, wet blanket! Way to finally join the party!” Trey shouted at Cal when we arrived. I helped her take off her coat and put it on top of mine. Trey handed us both shots. Cal looked at her glass and back at Trey, miserable. I smiled brightly and clinked my shot glass with his, then tossed the liquid over my shoulder before bringing the glass to my lips.

“Pey!” Cal shrieked. I turned and saw a dark brown stain running down her shirt, as if made by a giant slug.

“I’m sorry,” I said, grabbing napkins.

“Party foul, Trip! I’ll get another round, but you’re buying,” Trey said, snapping his fingers again.