As the night went on, the crowd got crazier and younger. On top of the costumes, there was a bachelor party going on—great for business, great for tips, loud as hel. At about eleven, he heard some chick screaming up the block. A bunch of guys were scuffling on the corner. At first he thought the bachelor party had started breaking up and heading into Manhattan for lap-dances. Then he realized these men were fighting and shouting in a tight ring about fifty yards off. A car alarm went off as someone slammed against it. Breaking glass. The screams had come from a chubby girl across the street, dressed as a bumblebee, who was staring at something on the ground at their feet. Griff couldn’t see it what it was, but she had taken a step into the street. Her face was a mask of horror, but she wasn’t running away. The fuck were they doing? Griff walked toward the noise slowly. His gut felt strange; this wasn’t a fight over beer money. The rest of them were yeling and kicking at the sidewalk.
