Tristan blinked heavily and tried to focus his bleary eyes. He still wasn't sure what it was that he was looking at. Frustrated he ordered another whiskey sour, then and asked Henry, who sat beside him, "Down at the end of the bar, see it?"

"What?"

"Blue sweater, fat, glasses, brown hair, sitting alone, sipping what appears to be a screwdriver."

"Yeah, okay, so?"

"Man or woman?"

Henry's gaze collapsed into a tight squint. "Hmmm. Now that you mention it I'm not sure. Hold on-" Henry paused and finished his gin and tonic in one long swallow. "Okay, now, let's take a closer look." After a long moment he said, "Shit, you got me. Could go either way."

"No lipstick, no nail polish, no make-up. But the hair, shoulder length, kinda girlie; I don't know."

"Notice," Henry pointed out, "on the upperlip, it's faint, but that's facial hair, hombre."

"It could be that she's just Eastern European. I'm not convinced. You think it could be one of those hermadites?"

"Hermaphrodite you mean? I have no idea. I think one of us has to go in for a closer look."

"Like who?" asked Tristan. He reached out and took the fresh drink the bartender held out.

"Like you."

"Why me?"

"It's your problem," Henry said, "I don't care what it is."

"You're not even curious?"

"Nope."

Tristan was getting annoyed. "Aw, c'mon, man, look at it. It's not natural. It's like an abomination or something."

"You'd probably sleep better tonight not knowing."

"But I got to know now," Tristan said, his voice climbing an octave, "it's been built up too much."

"There are just some things man was not meant to know."

Tristan stood up and walked to the end of the bar. The voice, he thought, the voice'll tell me.

"Can you spare a cigarette?" he asked.

The blue sweater clad figure simply held up the empty package of cigarettes.

"Oh, no more," he said, peering deeply into the enigmatic face, effeminate around the mouth, perhaps, but crowned with a masculine nose. "Heavy smoker, huh?"

It simply nodded and sipped at the screwdriver.

"What about me and you go back to my place and get it on? I've got a fresh jar of vaseline just waiting to be put to good use."

Blue sweater, frowning slightly, gripped Tristan's belt and poured the rest of the screwdriver into his pants, then abruptly stood up and walked out.

"Well?" asked Henry, convulsing with laughter as Tristan gingerly made his way back to his seat bar.

"I think I'm ready leave now."