Black Heart and Mr. Lucky sit with three barstools in-between them at The Full Moon Saloon, both of them regulars from back when you could buy a shot with a blowjob. But The Full Moon Saloon like everything else in the neighborhood has surrendered to gentrification and with a bright new neon sign, is now called The Collins Bar.

Mr. Lucky flashes me his jacket full of watches and half-heartedly jive talks me, knowing, what with my education and all, I won’t mistake his trinkets for gold when without warning the front door opens and a guy stumbles in with a knife in his back. 

“Now this is the shit I’m talkin’ about!” Mr. Lucky exclaims at this apparition from the past.

The Guy With The Knife In His Back stumbles up to the bar and grabs one of the stools separating Black Heart and Mr. Lucky. I dial 911 as the men, suddenly selfless, hand the Guy With The Knife In His Back their Budweisers and shots of well whiskey. He gulps them all down, nodding his thanks and bleeding all over the bar.