If he’d known, Vince would’ve just kept walking. He was deep in thought about this election business, and something about it was making him feel better—or distracted anyway—but now he’s outside Sam’s Pit, and Beth and her friend Angela are waving their hands in the cold air, making points with little bursts of steam. “Vince can settle it,” says Angela, and she toddles over in a pair of heels that make her lean dangerously far forward and transform her ass into a shelf. “Beth thinks guys like bras, but I said you all would just as soon see the bare titties.” Vince looks from Angela, all brown and curvy, to Beth, skinny, pale—frayed cast behind her back. “I don’t think I’m the right guy to ask.” Angela takes Vince’s arm in hers and bunkers it with boobs. She flutters her eyes and he can feel the dusting of her long lashes on his cheek. “Oh, come on, Vince. Which would you rather see?
