Despite protestations of being broke, lured out by the promises of drinks to be purchased from another pocket, Max Lucas now found herself in a bar full of hipsters. She did not want to be there, and she had no intentions of having a good time. With the alcohol in her apartment having run dry, and a rattle detectable in her hand, Max had come here in a moment of weakness and desperation. The possibility of facing the night sober was worse than dealing with hipsters, but only just, which is why she had caved to her friend Leo’s offer to purchase her drinks if she would just come out and be social.

From the moment she observed the clientele as the bouncer with bottle cap size black grommets in his ears checked her I.D., she immediately regretted the decision to come. Thankfully she was here for the sole purpose of getting nearly black out drunk which, thankfully, was the only mode in which she found hipsters tolerable. Guilt laden lectures on the benefits of veganism and arguments over the best, new underground German electronica were best handled while absolutely faced.

Bisecting the throbbing crowd unapologetically, she made her way to Leo at the bar. She could see he was chatting up a miserable looking girl with burgundy colored hair swept into her face, wearing a Jareth the Goblin King t-shirt with a hideous floral skirt held up by suspenders. Upon this, she viscerally braced for impact. Slinging herself onto the edge of the bar, she leaned against the edge of a retrofitted old bowling alley lane, and propped herself up by the elbows.

“Fuck, I miss smoking in bars,” she lamented. “Two minutes with these post-adolescent Emo kids, and I already feel like I need a cigarette.”

“Nice to see you dressed up for the occasion, Maxine.” Leo tugged at her shirt and loose fitting jeans, paint splattered from an afternoon spent working on her latest for-profit masterpiece. the use of her formal name always sounded like a scolding.

“You wanted me here, I’m here,” she reminded him, stealing a stirring straw from the mix station and popping in her mouth like a toothpick.

“Well, at least you won’t have to spend all evening telling innocent and interested young men to fuck right off—you’ve perfected a look that does it for you.” He bopped the messy, tangled brunette bun on the back of her head.

“The black rimmed glasses to skinny jeans ratio is far too high for a starving artist to not be in someone’s wheelhouse,” she raised her voice to be heard over the next song that had just begun to play on a jukebox that played 45s rather than digital streaming music, “So, I’m sure several of these pretentious poser douchebags will get the royal treatment before night’s end.”

“What are you drinking tonight, Tyler Durden?”

“Anything with alcohol,” she waved her hand nonchalantly, then catching her mistake replied, “No PBR. I have standards.” She leaned further on the bar to speak to Leo’s quarry, who had made absolutely no attempt of acknowledging her. “Hey Big Red,” she reached over to get the girl’s attention by snapping a suspender, “What tastes ironic?”

Leo jabbed Max in the ribs as Big Red made a prissy, judgmental scrunch face.

“Yeah... I’m gonna get in line for the ladies,” she sneered, and swished off to another group-- not the bathroom.

“Thanks, Max,” Leo grumbled

“You’re going to realize I just did you a favor,” she scoffed. “Seriously, what is your fetish for these self-righteous hipster chicks?”

“Uhh…” he hesitated like it should be obvious, “the fact that most of them have astonishingly manipulatable daddy issues.”

“Well, pardon my cock block.” She feigned remorse with a hand placed delicately to her chest

“Don’t worry about it. That girl’s going home with me tonight.” He spun around to lean his back on the edge of the bar, running his hand through his dirty blonde hair, and then smoothed out the wrinkles on his black vest jacket over a plaid button up.

“Trust me, dude, she thinks you’re repulsive.”

“What makes you think that?” Leo asked skeptically, squinting at her from the corner of his eye.

“I can read her aura,” she joked. “I’m very sensitive to vibes.”

“Well then, let’s test your ability. I bet you I take that girl home tonight, and...” he proposed, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he was suddenly looking for somebody, “… she’s coming with us.”

Following the direction of his pointed finger, she spied a top heavy bottle blonde with dark roots, wearing mom shorts from the early nineties over purposely snagged neon orange tights, and an oversized unicorn sweater.

“You’re going to have a threesome with Big Red and My Little Pony?” Max asked cynically.

“Loser buys drinks next time, all night.”

“I do love getting drunk for free.” She extended her hand to shake on the deal.

“I hope you sell a painting. I’m going to be very thirsty next Saturday.”

Max nodded playfully, but it was not merely her conceited demeanor that convinced her she would win this bet. When she joked about being sensitive, it was not really a joke. Which was the reason she was putting herself through hipster hell for free drinks—if she could read that girl’s mind, then she was sobering up. When the voices were silent, Max found it easier to function. Unfortunately, the only effective means of silencing the voices she had found in the eleven years since she had developed her ability had resulted in full blown alcoholism. Finally flagging down the bartender, she ordered a Long Island followed by three different shots, none of which were for sharing with Leo, but all ended up on his tab.