I move along to the back booth. Fat Tony, as usual. He's slouched back, eyes squeezed shut, mind in a place I never want to visit.

"Another round?"

A hand pokes up from under the table, two fingers raised.

"Whiskey sour, double, his tab?"

I get a thumbs up and move along to the bathrooms. Miss Kelly comes out, leading a bug-eyed housewife, hair scrambled and blouse mis-buttoned.

"Big brandy for her, club soda for me," Miss murmurs in passing.

I scan the line in the hall. Two boys to toss and six Bud Lites.

Just another Working Girl Wednesday.