When bored in a bar, Frank usually talked to the bartender.
»Why hello,« said Frank. »You look like a fine Fonzi guy.«
Frank looked into the mirror above the bar. The horizon stretched over his shoulder. David Bowie's face appeared and then dissolved in the low light, until nothing was left but Bowie's snaggle tooth.
»Now this,« said Frank, raising his glass full of blue Newton's Apple, »is living.«