Man walks in the door. Girl is waiting for him at the bar. They kiss quickly on the lips.

“How did you get here?”

“I walked. Through the zombies on 6th Street.” 

“The zombies?”

“Yeah, the dudes that are passed out, standing up, bent in the middle, defying gravity.”

“Oh, those zombies. What makes them like that?”

“Fentanyl and ketamine.”

“Really?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just what I heard.”

“You ever do any of that?” 

“I do ket from time to time.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, when you are on ketamine you can kind of just think of something and it starts happening, kind of like dreaming, but you can control it. Dreaming while awake.”

“Oh, I like that. Mind my seat while I go to the bathroom?”

She leaves and a shaggy man with big hair and a big beard starts up a conversation from the barseat over.

“Fella, I couldn’t help but overhear. You saw zombies?” 

“Ahh, yeah, just up on 6th Street.”

“Interesting, so you’re telling me you saw an army of the undead, uninterred, soulless creatures, nothingness and death, on 6th Street?”

“I mean, those are some pretty strong metaphors. I would describe them more like bleak or hopeless. But yeah, I guess so.”

“I am going to examine your undead, at a distance of course.”

“Whatever, man. That’s weird but you do you.”

Shaggy Man leaves. Girl returns. 

“I was thinking, I’d like to do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“Ketamine.”

“What?” 

“Ketamine. I want to do ketamine.”

“Oh, okay, cool.”

“Tonight. Like right now. Can you get it?” 

“Ketamine?” 

“Yes, ketamine. Ketamine. Ketamine. Ketamine.”

“I guess, but do you really want to do it?”

“I really want to do it, I want to dream while awake.”

“Oh, I only sold the good parts, you also look mentally disabled when you’re high, can’t function well …”

“Come on, can you get it?”

“I guess.”

“How much does it cost?”

“Eighty dollars a gram.” 

“Is that a lot, like enough for it to work?”

“Plenty.”

“Okay I’m going to the ATM, you message your guy.”

As soon as she leaves, a man walks into the bar wearing loose blue sweatpants, no shoes, no shirt, he too has a long gray beard, but with thinning hair on top. He throws up his hands and bellows—  

“You think the world’s a good place, but it’s not. You are told that you can be anything, but anything is bad and it wants to eat you and devour you, and pin you down. God will not come for you or redeem you. God will look at you with wrath and emptiness, sacrifice you to the demons, burn you alive. It is time, time for this hell-bound town to fall into the earth…”

The bartender rushes up from the basement. “Oi you, what the fuck are you talking about? Get the fuck out of here.”

Blue Sweatpants seemingly comes to, mid-sentence, grunts, turns, and leaves the bar.

“Sorry, we get weirdos in here sometimes.”

Girl comes back in, sits back down at the bar.

“I got the cash, did you message?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Are you sure you want to do this? Ketamine takes out horses with a single dose.”  

“Stop trying to scare me.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’m messaging.”