Last night at the bar, the Russians were drinking and telling stories about selling drugs in America. "It's so much easier here!" they said. Ivan was standing next to them listening. I told him that all the money wasn't worth the risk of taking his business to Colombia. I raised the questions of ethics and morality, but he wasn't listening. My 'Noble Sardine' is too blind and self destructive to care about things like that. All I can do now is refer to him in my thesis and daydream about the times when we struggled with lesser issues. He's not my responsibility any more. Two drunk natives from behind the pool table kept ranting about the "Marilyn Diaries" and yelling that there aren't any military men in Sacramento worth their weight in salt. They were trying to provoke us, but we weren't biting. Two Asian women got up and started dancing together, carefully and awkwardly putting one foot next to the other, stepping on each others' feet, laughing and avoiding eye contact with the rest of us. They were in their own magical world that excluded us all and I was feeling jealous. My friend Sandrine was sitting at the end of the bar alone, her eyes fixed on the shiny black linoleum floor. She hadn't moved in an hour which worried me. Was she catatonic? What were those pills she took earlier and who was she waiting for? "My sympathies dear Sandi, but tonight will seem like a dream tomorrow and you can blame all your misery on me, your ungracious host who posted your bulletin too late". If only she spoke better English she might have understood. By 1am, a sparrow flew in through an open window, hit the spot light then crashed down on the dance floor. Someone stepped on it, but nobody stopped dancing. By 1:30 the room felt suffocating and my ears were ringing, so I stepped outside for some fresh air and clarity. Thanks for holding my hand while we sat on the curb. Your sweet smile was just enough.