And you thought you couldn't fly. You're flying pretty well now. Spiraling through the bar at mach 1, you reflect that things couldn't get much worse.
In a story, you should never reflect that things can't get much worse.
You finally skid to a halt on a large, soft, rubbery plain. You're bruised, but otherwise alright. You stand up, and quickly realize that you're standing on a chair at a table. Before you can react, you see the hem of a skirt heading unsteadily towards you. As it starts to turn around to sit down, you realize that you'd better get out of here. Then again, if you run, you still might not be able to get away from the quickly--if unsteadily--descending ass.
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