"...There is no pain you are receding,
A distant ship smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying..."
You recognize the song playing on the stereo, an old Pink Floyd tune. The dancer on the
small stage to your right is moving slowly and sensuously, eyes half shut, becoming one
with the music in this smoky dungeon. There is an older hispanic man with a cigarette
dangling from his lip leaning against the rail in front of the stage. He is trying in vain to get
the girl's attention with a five dollar bill. "Ahh, the zen of stripping..." you chuckle to
yourself cynically.
The bartender calls out to you "Two drink minimum or five dollar cover, buddy."
"What have you got on tap?" you ask.
"We only serve two kinds of brew here, Past or Future. What'll it be?"
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