11
Patrick Powers drained the last of his vodka and coke and pushed away from the table. Unsteadily, he made his slow way between the other tables, and those standing or sitting around them, to the stairs.
The music was louder when he got downstairs, and the dance-floor crowded with moving and gyrating bodies. Ordinarily he would have been one of those on the dance-floor, displaying his best moves, and trying his luck with any woman who took his fancy; not then, though. He had gone out that evening with the intention of having a bloody good drink, and perhaps pulling, if luck was on his side; unfortunately, the half dozen or so vodka and cokes he had drunk had had a negative, rather than the usual positive, effect on his mood and his thoughts.
As much as he tried not to think about it,
