Satchel is driving low budget with every intention of making his way to an entertainment neighborhood-sanctioned fun club, alone, but with hopes of meeting someone new. Then thereabouts he remembers an old friend and the job she may have and that it has really been a long time since they last spoke. They had argued. She may be there if he stops in for a bit just to find out if what he imagines is real. He pulls up to an off limits kind of club and anticipates an experience on the level of greeting extraterrestrials. The place sparkles in machined light and glitter and smells of perfumes. The cashier asks for ten dollars and ID. Satchel’s hand shakes as he hands over his cover.