happy hour

I’m wearing narrow leg, European jeans, a designer button down with tie, Jack Parcell Converse and sitting at a downtown patio pub, the name of which I can’t recall. I’m here because the sign out front claims, “Happy Hour! $2 You Call Its!” This will make my colleagues happy. The sun is setting and the temperature is falling just as quickly. I order my fifth coffee and tense my body to shield a cool breeze as the rest of my party arrives. It’s six o’clock and by the sound of things, they’ve already had several drinks. Elevated voices. Increased physical contact. Giddy laughter. Confidence.