There's something like a hiccup, and it slides across your skin. You trained yourself to notice this kind of a thing, ever since you were a kid and you noticed that concentrating creating a wrinkle in something you couldn't see. Still you forget what you were doing. It was probably important. Wasn't it?

"Cassandra," the drunk across from you says. He grabs for the beer in front of you, slides it away. "You still with me?"

> "Larry. Stop it."
> "What the hell is going on?"