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Wild Night

The man's expression darkens a moment, and he sits back, in thought. His eyes dart empty over the table, as if pondering something, as if several thoguhts at once are flying over his consciousness. And then suddenly his smile returns and he grins back at you. "Hello, Sophie," he says, "it's a pleasure to meet you. Want anything to drink?"

Well, hey, you're in a bar. You order a Molson Triple X, he orders a Guinness. You make idle chat throughout the ordering and consuming process, sharing little things about yourself and learning little things about him. As the alcohol gets into your system, you begin to relax a little, though occasionally he misses one of your replies or questions, as he's either zoned out, or thinking. He seems to do this alot, and you drink faster than he does, going through four Triple X's before he finishes his second Guinness. You learn that he is, by trade, a columnist for an online newspaper. In fact, he looks it: he has one of those pale, almost gray computer-tanned complexions that serious geeks get.

By now, you're not exactly drunk, but you're a little warm. Jake doesn't seem to really be affected at all by his alcohol, but then again, he hasn't had much. Maybe it's time to probe a little deeper into his life.