Last night I went to an ’80s bar where they had two rooms. One was for the Madonna-Prince boppers, one for the Morrisey-Cure ghoulies. Anyway, I was headed past the bar when I got shoved into this guy. We looked at each other for a second, and he grabbed my shoulder:

Guy: Do I know you?

Me: Yep.

Guy: From where?

Me: Sacramento.

Guy: Yeah! Where did we meet?

Me: You were the stripper at my birthday party.

Guy: Ha! Right!

Me: What are you doing in the city?

Guy: I’m an investment banker.

Of course.

9:29 a.m.