She cleans up and throws on a pink sports bra and a one-size-too-big shirt that says, No eating goblins. She digs around for matching boy shorts and short gym shorts to show off her long legs. The sandals were a given; they are her favorite. She puts her hair up in a simple bun. She looks in the mirror. ‘No need for makeup today; just getting food—so much food and ice cream—screw today.’

  She grabs her wallet and phone and slips them into her pocket. The walk to the bar is chilly on her skin; she opens the door to reception. She waves to the manager, who is so engrossed in her game again that they don't see her walk past. She opens the doors to the bar and is immediately hit by the sound of ughter and gsses clinking together but also a ukulele being pyed expertly. Three dozen people are wearing Hawaiian leis, and someone in the corner is doing limbo. A tall-looking man, his appearance stony and smooth, almost like he was made out of obsidian, slips a lei on her neck. This is too much noise and confusion for her. A fake smile appears on her face as she pushes past the crowd to get to the bar.

  The room is rge, with enough seating scattered around for a hundred people. The bar is a beautiful sb of redwood 50 feet long with traditional brass rails. Somehow it still seems tacky, like a chain restaurant. Only made more tacky by Hawaiian decorations. She takes a seat near the bartender.

  The barkeeper has blue hair, and his eyes are shaped like a cat's. He has a few tattoos on his arms that look like they are in Greek. He is also wearing a straw hat and a Hawaiian shirt. Her eyes wander back to his eyes. ‘What is up with those eyes?’ she thinks to herself.

  "What can I get you tonight, stranger? He says his voice is gravelly.

  “Well, what do you have?” She responds.

  “I usually prefer steak, but tonight we have Hawaiian pig roast and poi. Oh, also a great pineapple teriyaki chicken over rice, he tells her, and she looks at him bnkly. “I think you should go with the teriyaki."

  “Yeah, that sounds good. What have you got to drink?” She says, leaning closer to him to be heard.

  He moves back a little, uncomfortable with the closeness. “The drink of the night is shrimp cocktails,” he looks her over. "Or did you need something stronger? Maybe to knock that road dust out of your hair, partner," he tips his straw hat at her, and a faint swishing noise is heard.

  “I thought this was Hawaiian night that was very cowboy,” she says.

  He smiles at her with a tight-lipped smile. “I have to level with you. I have no idea how to act Hawaiian, and none of these people do either," he says as he moves his hand to point around the room; she sees his nails are pointed and well manicured.

  She nods and ughs, “I have no idea how to act Hawaiian either.” She looks at him, realization on her face. “Did you say shrimp cocktail as a drink, not an appetizer?”

  “I did, and I agree it's very strange,” the person with strange eyes says, “but some of them manage it.” He points to the stony man that she had just interacted with. She turns and sees him raising his gss filled with shrimp and sauce and drinking or eating the shrimp tails and all.

  “That is just weird. I don't think that will hurt you. I don't think. How will I know when my order is up?” She asks confused, upset, a little of both.

  He makes a couple of taps, and her watch buzzes. "That will tell you when your food is up.".

  She thanks him and looks around the bar again. There are some very unusual seats scattered around, some of them looking incredibly uncomfortable. As she scans around the room, she sees in the corner there are 10 photos of presidents shaking the bartender's hand. She notices one wait staff wearing fox ears in her thick red hair and a coconut bra. There is a male waitstaff member who was also wearing a coconut bra.

  In the back is a table near the back with 6 very pregnant women, one with bright red hair who seems to be the ringleader, all drinking soda and ughing about something.

  Her spin continues. As she spins around slowly, she admires the lengths they went to to make it seem Hawaiian. The fake inftable palm trees and tiki heads scattered around. There are even fake tiki torches. She sees a small green-tinged man having a conversation with a tall, thin, slightly blue man wearing a doctor jacket. “There are better ways to administer treatment,” the short one says.

  “Not all of us are living vacuums,” the tall blue one says.

  She continues looking around; there is a man with a ton of body hair who is eating a bowl of cereal. He catches her watching him and puts his back towards her; she moves on a little miffed.

  Her eyes stop on a massive, muscled man who has green-tinged skin. ‘What is going on here? Does everyone have a skin disease?” she asks herself. His face is mostly normal except for a pair of incisors that are so rge they push out of his lower jaw and up towards his eyes.

  She looks at the man next to him who isn't wearing a shirt. He is so muscur his muscles have muscles; he looks like someone sthered him in oil. “I am a god; you can't defeat me,” he says, looking at the man who looks a lot like an orc if she lets herself think that's possible.

  She sees now that they are holding hands in a traditional arm wrestle, the table made out of a piece of eyebeam welded to an inch-thick pte of steel.

  The two titans' forearms ripple. The orc grunts loudly, holding his ground, while at the same time the other man, who looks a little like a Greek statue, is not struggling at all. The orc looks around desperately and sees the pregnant woman with red hair watching them; he grunts out, “Hey Scarlet, tell Mars hello.”.

  She whistles, “Hey, Mars, what are you doing ter?” He looks over, and the orc sms Mars’s hand on the steel. “You lose, Mr. God,” the green brute of an orc says winded.

  “You cheated,” Mars says and walks away. He is gently moving people out of his way, and others are simply avoiding him instinctually.

  She moves on; her eyes fall on the most unusual thing in the room. An actual pink fmingo with a tiny lei around his neck walking around.

  She turns around in a complete circle and asks the bartender, "What's the deal with the fmingo?"

  "I don't know; he has been here longer than me," he smiles at the fmingo. "He does enjoy strutting around the pce."

  "That's weird. Doesn't health and safety have anything to say about it?" She asks conversationally, the man's cat-shaped contacts looking a little too real. She swears she saw the irises contract.

  "Kevin? Nah, Kevin and the fmingo go way back; plus, he knows how to use a toilet and washes frequently.

  "the fmingo?” she asks.

  “Yes, and also Kevin, if you're wondering,” he replies. His teeth are just a little too pointy; she notes it's like he is hiding them.

  Speaking of bathrooms, where is the bathroom?" she asks. Her bdder is full again. ‘I swear it never grew after I turned 5. ’ She wiggles her way off the stool.

  "the right third door in the back, fourth door if you're feeling... spicy," he gives her a wink.

  She gives the bartender a dirty look as she heads to the bathroom; the muscled green man eyes her up as she passes. ‘He does look like an orc,’ she thinks.