Today I bartended again For the first time in six days. The sun shone through the window, five minutes into Jeopardy. My customers were Shaky Bob, who can never leave in time, calling cabs, falling down. And Lisa. But her stage name is Gemini. “I’m the only white girl who strips at Ricky’s.” “I got offered 50 bucks last night to get off the stage. Shit, yeah, I took it. But I have to work just like the other girls. Give me a break.” She tells me she isn’t the prettiest girl in the world; she smells of apples, menthol. For 45 minutes we forget where we are. “What’s your name?” “Jessica.” “That was my name before I got adopted.” Her cough sounds like mornings. “Please.” “Let’s have some Rumpleminze.” Missed the first bus. “Who do you have to screw to get a drink around here?” I reach out one arm in a half-hug. The way the light gets golden this time of day it’s hard to tell if the neon signs are plugged in, if I should turn on the fan. People keep talking about Fat Tuesday, Like they know what Lent means. Fish fry, hard-boiled eggs, different hymns. Boobs and beads, Bourbon Street. At the tavern today I played myself, the wrong song. I tell some guy he has a dirty forehead. Ash Wednesday, now, that’s something you can see.