It is a Friday night when you enter the bar. Barely anybody noticed you, since it’s packed. You sit down at the counter and order a fizzy drink, trying to distract yourself from your troubles.

Ira notices you, though. He’s leaning back and sipping on his whiskey, not taking his eyes off of you. After a few minutes of shameless checking out, he approaches you,

“Waiting for someone, sweet pea?”