Alex looked at the prick's companion. She outweighed the prick by fifty pounds. Her hair was dyed the color of straw, and her face was burnt red from a sunlamp. She was letting the prick drink her beer. He lapped at the beer as a dog laps at water.

"What's that prick's name?" Alex asked the man beside him.

"Lee Howell. You know him?"

"I thought maybe I did." Alex squinted, feigning concentration. "But I don’t." Alex shrugged. "Anyway."

The man stopped stroking his beard and extended his hand. "My name's Marty Hesse. Yours?"

"William Yeats." Alex shook his new friend's hand; it was as thick as Alex's foot. Marty nodded and kept talking about the Soo Locks. His talking was structured by geography, moving south from Sault St. Marie to Mt. Pleasant to Alma. Alex pretended to listen, mumbling "Yes" or "Uh huh" or "No kidding." He kept his eye on Lee Howell.

The band had been on break for a half hour. The members were dragging themselves back to the bandstand, which was plywood supported by milk crates. They played "Sweet Dreams", and a few couples slow-danced. One man vomited on his girlfriend’s shoulder. She slapped him and used his blue windbreaker to wipe off the vomit. When she returned to the dance floor, Lee Howell was with her. They leaned against the Wurlitzer to lick each other's tongues.

Alex excused himself and approached Lee Howell's straw-haired companion. "How 'bout a dance, ma'am?"

"My name's not ma'am. It's Val." Val sat coolly at the bar, as if she were a beauty used to rejecting dances, and looked Alex up and down. "I've got a few minutes."

Alex took the lead and nudged Val across the dance floor. They were next to Lee and his freshly-wiped dance partner. Lee did not notice his company at first. Lee was sucking his partner's neck; she embraced him and tipped her head back in drunken rapture.

When Val saw her man Lee with another woman, she gripped Alex's waist and thrust her hips.

Alex twirled Val around. In doing so, he elbowed Lee. Lee removed his mouth from his partner—he was now working on her cheek and eye—and looked at Alex. Lee's eyes were glassy from booze, and his mouth was slack. A string of saliva, tinted peach with his partner's makeup, swung from his chin.

Alex held Lee's gaze for a moment, then stuck his tongue into Val's mouth. She squeezed his ass in return. Alex extracted his tongue from Val's cigarette-flavored mouth and pushed his tongue up her cigarette-flavored nostril. She snorted and wiped at her nose, but she was grinning. Alex smiled back and stuck a hand between Val's thighs.

Lee pushed his partner away and stepped forward. He stared at Alex, but Alex kept thrusting his hand between Val’s thighs. She began unbuttoning Alex's shirt.

"You bitch," Lee muttered.

"You dancin’ with a blow-job vendor like Amy Johnson!" Val nodded at Amy, who offered a drunken smile in return. "And you call me the bitch in the bar?"

"Touché!" Alex laughed.

"Quit rubbin' her box," Lee ordered.

Alex shook his head. "She likes it."