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I was sitting in a bar on Western Avenue. It was around midnight, and I was in my usual state of confusion. I mean, well, you know, nothing works right: women, work, leisure, time, dogs...

Eventually, all you can do is go sit somewhere dazed, completely knocked out, and wait—as if you were at a bus stop waiting for death.

Well, I was sitting there, and in walks this woman with long dark hair, a beautiful body, and sad brown eyes. I didn’t turn to look at her; I just kept with my drink.

I ignored her even when she came over and sat next to me, even though all the other seats were empty.

In fact, we were the only people in the bar, aside from the bartender.

She ordered a dry wine. Then she asked me what I was drinking.

“Scotch and water,” I said.

“And bring the gentleman a scotch and water,” she told the bartender.

Well, this wasn’t very normal.

She opened her purse, took out a small cage, pulled out some tiny people, and placed them on the bar. They were about four inches tall, properly dressed, and seemed to be alive. There were four of them: two women and two men.

“They make them like this now,” she said. “They’re very expensive. They cost me around $2,000 each when I bought them. Now they’re worth about $2,400.”

I don’t know how they’re made, but it’s probably illegal.

They were walking around on the bar.

Suddenly, one of the little men slapped one of the tiny women.

“You bitch!” he said. “I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

“No, George, you can’t do this to me!” she screamed, crying. “I love you! I’ll kill myself! I need you!”

“I don’t care,” said the little man, pulling out a tiny cigarette and lighting it with a smug gesture. “I have the right to do whatever I want.”

“If you don’t want her,” said the other little man, “I’ll take her. I love her.”

“But I don’t love you, Marty. I’m in love with George.”

“But he’s a bastard, Anna, a real son of a bitch.”

“I know, but I love him anyway.”

Then the little bastard walked over to the other tiny woman and kissed her.