The whiskey is the first thing Steve has comfortably slipped into for a long time. From anonymous, awkward - unsure of himself - his trajectory is that of every other 'Steve' draped over the bar: furtive, through assured, with beligerent leering and beckoning him into oblivion.

Blonde, a body as indulgent as her smile, the barmaid tops-up his glass.

Steve fixes her in his gaze. Eyes twinkling-

"What is this, some kind of film noir parody? No one free-pours whiskey tfor strangers these days..."

Weight shifts onto one leg throwing hips to side and cleavage unavoidably into Steve's line of vision.  She twinkles right back at him-

"Maybe I like strangers"

" Ha, ok, maybe I'm Jake Gittes"

"Maybe I don't get that reference"

"Maybe you don't"

"Maybe"

Beat.

Steve holds her gaze. Delicious. Peripheral skipping over the alluring curve of cleavage, Steve takes in the delicious decadence of the moment. This is Steve. That impotent nobody Will couldn't even dream a moment like this anymore. Too damn neurotic, too focused, too driven - to ever just sit back and take a ride... and what a ride she would be.

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