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first time. Not like I’ve never seen it, but I wasn’t interested. It’s got to be bad for you, right? But it’s really not a big deal. I mean, I feel really good, like an intense caffeine buzz. I hope it lasts.Hey, been meaning to tell you, made a decision about my work dilemma—I’m moving in.”
    “All righty then.” He hands me the tooter. “Let’s celebrate.”
    Ssshhhump
.
    Ssshhhump
.
    Cinch slides the plate under the couch. “Just be cool when we go back to the bar. People love the white, but they don’t like to admit it. There’s a lot of guilt and deception with it. If you have any doubt about people, just ask me.”
    More concerned with the effect on me than others, I say, “How much was that? I mean, how much should I do? I don’t want to overdo it.”
    Cinch says, “Don’t worry. We’ll just take it one line at a time.”

    In the Round House, Whiplash charges into the Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” and transforms the barroom into a dance floor. Cinch dances wildly. Feeling conspicuous, I trail a modest distance behind. The frenzy intensifies my buzz. My mind accelerates: third, fourth, fifth gear. I look around. The rest of the world tries to keep up.
    Cinch bounces to the bar for drinks. Astrid, standing by herself a few feet away, winks at me. “You two were gone for a while. The night is almost over.”
    I slide over next to her, trying to be nonchalant, but inside, my thoughts shove one another out of the way to get to the front. “But we’re just getting started. I mean, the night is young. You should join. That is, if you want to. You know what I mean.”
    Astrid motions toward Cinch gyrating to the music at the bar. “Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
    “No worries. I’m on vacation,” I say, reinforcing my battle cry.
    Cinch returns, bringing a cocktail for Astrid as well. “Tonight’s going to be one of those nights. I can feel it.”
    The parachute ceiling billows from the movement. I scan the room. Perched above the crowd in the front and next to the restrooms are two bouncers in lifeguard chairs. I say, “Were those chairs here before? I didn’t notice them. But they had to be, right?”
    “Yep, but no one was in them,” Cinch says. “When it gets busy, it’s the only way we can see the whole floor. You’ll be up there with a flashlight. Pretty simple: no one’s allowed to stand on chairs or tables, and both feet on the floor at all times. We use the flashlight to get people’s attention, so we don’t have to keep climbing up and down. You’ll see some unbelievable shit from there.”
    Almost on cue, the guy in the chair near us shines his beam on a young lady standing on top of her stool. Since she doesn’t respond to the light on her face, he shakes it back and forth and then raises his hand and points to the ground.
    “Reminding people of the rules is about 90 percent of the job,” Cinch says. “Another 8 percent is talking to people and answering the same questions over and over, and the last 2 percent is the ugly stuff. It’s nice that the smallest part of the job is the physical side. Actually, bouncers cause most fights. At the slightest sign of trouble, they start throwing their weight around. That’s why I choose to manage my boredom by keeping a slight buzz—just enough to keep me entertained, but not so much that I lose control.”
    Astrid says, “Keep in mind that Cinch’s version of control is bedlam.”
    “You got to do something to keep it interesting,” he says. “People think the job is one long party, that you get all kinds of women. Overall, it’s monotonous. A customer trying to be clever will ask you a question, and two days later a different person will be in the same spot asking the same question. I just stroke’em—answer like it’s the first time I’ve ever heard their smartass question, then turn the conversation back on the person so he talks about himself. It’s not like I’m