He pulled open the heavy door and entered. He was greeted by a blast of hot air and a shattering wave of sound from the rock combo. The place was dimly lit and reeked of incense. On stage, a show was in progress—Cinderella was performing her obscene act with the trained mice and the pumpkin. Abernathy ignored it and groped his way uncertainly to the bar. He sat down on a stool next to the Queen of Hearts, an impressive woman who was engaged in an animated conversation with a prissy-looking white rabbit in a waistcoat. “And then,” said the Queen of Hearts, “she had the nerve to tell me that I and all my men were nothing but a pack of playing cards. Well, I’ll tell you, if I ever catch that little cunt screwing around in my rosebushes again I’m going to show her what I really use the flaming
