I was invited to sit at their table. To dip chips and sip margaritas that nicely held hands with smooth tequila shots passed freely from a girl with a skirt the size of a blind fold.

I am sitting at the divorced kids table, and my misery is oh-so-loving my new friends. Throughout the night, I have thoughts about how each of us deserves it; despite our sufferings: Patrick; indulgent with his mouth and his drinks, Seb; who has looked up twice from his biceps all night, and me, just a bottom line basket case that can cold a straight face long enough for things to really get dangerous.

Then there is Claude. She has brought us here together, but for what? But because. This is the bottom where things really get interesting and she wants to watch.