“Anyway, sorry,” said Sofie brightly, understanding that the evening’s festivities had taken a direct hit. “I’m a journalist; these are the stories I think about; it’s hard to leave work at home.” She picked up her drink, and each man was forced to reveal whether he would act like a dick in the face of such truth, and then such graceful accommodation, or whether he would stay and drink. Bunny considered the way Sofie was like a man in that she could speak confidently and at length, but like a woman in that she could read and direct the energy produced by the things she said. And one by one they clinked, and stayed. “Now what should we talk about,” said Bunny, laughing and taking Sofie’s cigarette gently to light her own.