There was a commotion down the block: oktiger was cussing out some bouncers. "You can't close the dance floor at 12:30! That shit needs to stay open until 2 A.M.!" She flipped them off and stormed away, with vanillaknives and explosionbox following behind. I think someone else was there too, but I don't remember who.
I decided to stop being antisocial and say hello. "I want to dance!" oktiger said. "I know," she said, "we can dance at the 8-Ball."
So we went to the 8-Ball, only it wasn't the 8-Ball. It was in the basement, and it was smoky, but it was filled with red velveteen sofas and high-backed chairs with ottomans. It was quiet and nearly empty, except for the bartender and two slouching patrons.
We sat at a large round table and, without any of us ordering, the bartender brought us each distinctive Chinese appetizers.