"Wha-?"

Too bad, Anthony.

Anthony sighed. "That means, that...yes, she's pretty." Why does he even bother with this anymore?

Harry nodded. "That's good."

"...Yeah," Anthony nodded and laughed awkwardly. "pretty women are....good, aren't they?" This whole 'pretending to be heterosexual' thing was absolutely not working out for him.

"Well, ye're a lucky man..." Harry clapped Anthony's shoulder. "We'll drink to that!" And he ordered them another round before Anthony had the time to finish his drink (and run).

Just when he thought that maybe he could soon flee from this all. "Yeah, we sure will," Anthony sighed, having just resigned himself to this cruel fate. Was this hell? Was he in hell? Was he being punished right now for all the crimes he's committed? It really did seem like it.

Harry drank merrily. "How'd ye meet?"

Anthony drank in the way that a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown did. "In......" he tried to make up some bullshit real fast, "....a bar." Anthony nodded as if to affirm the truthfulness of the statement.

"What? She goes out drinkin' alone?" he asked. He shook his head. "Mate, let me tell ye. That's a bad sign. Me wife drinks. She's horrible."

Anthony didn't want to be judged for his nonexistent girlfriend's 'actions'. "Uh, no—" he said, "—she...was just meeting up with a couple of her friends, there. She doesn't drink."