from How to Pick Up Women

Last call and groups of women are leaving the club. There is more space to dance, more space to look around and listen. The shorn woman is still staring at me, and I dance with my back to her. A bad disco song comes on, and I go back to the speaker and pick up my drink. My glass is empty except for an ice cube, which I suck on while trying to figure out how to stand. Is my posture around men different? It must be. Standing there looking at the remaining prospects, I am transported to my seventh grade gym class on the day the cool girls caught me with tissues stuffed down my bra. I straighten my back and puff out my chest. I bite down hard on the ice to keep myself in the present.