It was nearly 4 a.m. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, teasing the threads of memory… Had she really pulled a gun from the folds of her burgundy satin trench coat, spun on her violet stilettos and fired a stolen taser at the sinewy alien who’d tried to implant her with a urethral probe earlier that night? Or… was it the Ambien she’d crushed into her gin-and-vermouth?

[Please note: This is intentionally bad writing bwahahahahaha…]