There was this thing called 'trying to be respectable.' Mike had been doing it since he'd shipped back in.

Here, now, tonight, he's failing. There's a pretty girl sitting on his knee where he's sitting on a stool at the bar, sipping something that isn't alcoholic but looks it. She has one hand in his hair, he has one of those sleepy smiles that says, quite plainly, that he doesn't expect to be there all night.

Plans can change.