It’s 1937 London, and you were lucky enough to be on top. Parties almost every night, filled to the brim with the cream of the crop. The music was smooth and upbeat as happy couples danced the night away. Swing, Jazz, Blues, all on rotation. Yet you sat in your best outfit, your hair teased and your shoes polished, alone at the bar. You swirled your drink, your favorite cocktail. But its flavor didn’t really pip you up like it usually does. Tonight seems like a bum night

That is, until a woman walked into the party. She had black hair that bounced right above her shoulders and eyes so green you can see it from here. Her dress reflected like millions of tiny mirrors. Her lips were painted a perfect color for her features, like she knew what was perfect from birth. She was stunning, and heading right towards the bar. Once she got there, a trail of stares in her wake, she leaned on the bar right next to you.

“Get me an Aviation.” She says with a small sigh, like she’d had the longest day. Like you. “Make it a double if you can.”