Jim and his new catch were obscured by a woman with big hair, and Susan sighed and reached for her purse. She should just leave. She paid the bartender for her new drink and took a long swallow of it before standing. That might have been a mistake. She felt herself sway and grabbed on to the bar. She must have had more than she had thought. Gathering her wits, she started for the door, using a loose walk that could absorb a bit of unsteadiness. Being drunk was enough of a danger without looking like she was.

She had made it nearly to the door, traveling in as straight a line as the crowd permitted, before the mishap. A dancer spun into the space in front of her, unbalancing both of them, and she wasn't quick enough to compensate. He was, though, and caught at her upper arms, keeping her from falling. For a frozen moment, she found herself looking into dark eyes under tight curled dark hair. She had caught his arms as well, as if he were about to swing her on a trapeze, and felt hard curves of muscle under her grip. His face had a pointed, foxy look, and his mouth was curving into a smile.

"Sorry," she muttered, stepping back and dropping her eyes, but that just left her looking at the way tight brown leather pants displayed the lines of the stranger's legs. Humiliated, she pushed by him and out onto the street, which canted for a moment before steadying.

For a moment she stood, adjusting to the lesser cacophony of traffic. How had they come from the subway? The club had been Jim's choice, and she didn't know the area, which was run-down, but not too rough. Turning slowly, she saw a street that looked right. She started down that, thinking she would take the second turn, but that didn't look familiar at all. Down the next, though, she saw the distant lit plate-glass windows of a deli they had passed. Just around the corner from that would be the subway station. She walked confidently towards the bright storefront, but when she was halfway there, it went dark. Hadn't it been a 24-hour place? She scanned the street around her, finding nothing she recognized, even from a moment earlier.

She didn't like the look of any of it, either. At least there were no other pedestrians, although that might be worse; inset doorways held shadow enough to hide a man. She turned and hurried back the way she had come. Down the first side street, she caught the shape of a distant subway sign and headed towards it with relief. Three drinks had left her not only unsteady, but badly needing to pee. She wished she had noticed that before leaving the bar. Now that she was aware of it, every step jolted her bladder.

She had walked another two blocks when she noticed the subway sign had vanished. Again, she stopped. Grimy buildings edged the street, with most of their windows dark. From one-third floor apartment came the changing light of a television. To her right was an empty lot, with nightshade twining over a rusted chain link fence. It had been pulled down in places, and half the gate was gone. She heard rough laughter behind her, and darted into the hidden space.

No one approached. It was quieter, in here. She couldn't figure out the acoustics of that, but the peace was welcome. The green fence and an overhanging sumac gave an impression of privacy, and she wondered if she could surreptitiously pee in the corner.

It was an awful thought, but she couldn't help thinking it would be yet more vulgar to wet herself on the street. She was thoroughly lost, and wouldn't get home soon regardless, and she was wearing a skirt, so the mechanics were possible. The June evening was so hot that she'd forgone the sticky discomfort of stockings, so she didn't even have that obstruction to deal with.

Making up her mind, she stepped further into the shadows. She walked carefully, looking for needles or glass that might poke up past her dressy sandals, but the hard dirt was surprisingly unlittered. She relieved herself in the corner, wiping off with her panties and then abandoning them behind a clump of flowering weeds.

Embarrassed, but far more comfortable, she straightened up from her crouch. Her eyes had adjusted to the shadow, and now she saw why the ground was clear of refuse. Some urban artist had arranged it all in a ragtag circle around a discarded cabinet door, mixing scraps of wrappers and broken glass with the precise care of Goldsworthy. A heap of blue and clear glass glittered at one end. Susan stepped closer, wondering if that was extra raw materials or a project of its own. Carefully, she stepped over the sharp sparkle of the line. As her foot came down, the world tilted and swirled, spiraling down into chaos.