Hotel Bar

Coworkers come in their business wear to drink and talk about what they cannot at their desks; they are bitter Catholics after having attended Catholic high school; their mothers are upset that they are Muslim; their rents are too expensive or a great deal in their city far from here; there are no women in the world who do not wish to change their husbands; the two most important words for any married man to know are "yes dear." Barely veiled frustration with one's existence in the world reveals itself in misogynistic cliches and other forms of lazy, poorly articulated hatred.
Beefeater gin and tonics are three dollars, free with a room number. A basketball game assumes center stage; between quarters, MIA's "Paper Planes" plays in a commercial for a summer movie about teenage boys on a wild adventure in a stolen car. Or something like it.
The whistles blow in the game, high heels on carpet, "there are more attorneys in America than there are teachers," "would you like another drink?", shrill laughs and dinner plans, the wine list.
The guests wait, the employees offer advice on what to see in their city, everyone avoids sitting alone.