"You look like shit," the woman beside him offers helpfully.

She's older, pushing 60 (but don't you dare say she looks a day over 35), ginger hair a little tousled. She's slouched in a lab coat, taking drags off a cigarette while the bourbon in her hand settles. It's her fourth, so there's no rush. Let the ice melt.

She eyes him sidelong, crow's feet marking years of speculation and doubt. "Try the blue stuff. It'll give you a kick in the ass you could use."