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I chugged hard on the last of my beer and wiggled the empty can in the air for Mustachio behind the bar to see. Another cold sweaty can arrived with its short shot buddy. Then another. And another. A parade of cans and shots across the bar and the place filled up with people.
A woman I recognized came through the door and pushed her way into the crowd. She walked down the bar and sat next to me on the only empty stool.
