I am in a bar with more TV than artwork on its walls. This breaks my principal rule of bars, but I had to *** and the bar was open and I felt guilty using the bathroom without buying anything, so I am drinking a Blue Point Toasted Lager and trying to make sense of a sample chapter of Judith Butler's book Gender Trouble on my smartphone while a group of three to six drunk men a few meters to my left debates the relative fuckability of Meg Ryan vs Sally Field in the nineties or the eighties or sometimes both and this whole thing feels ironic and like maybe it could be a scene in an indie movie.