Upon realizing the bar was dry, Jack's hunter-gatherer instincts kicked in and he procured himself and Annie a respectable bottle of Moët, which is the 21st-century equivalent of coming back to the ol' cave with a Pleistocene bison. He is now halfway through the bottle and very much has the air of a 'Man Who Would Rather Be Discussing Obama's End-of-the-Year Playlist In His Marital Fortress.'
"But what I'm saying—" Jack is leaning back against the bar, bent sideways at an angle that does not look comfortable so he and Annie can people-watch and gossip with each other. Except he's not gossiping, he's talking Obama. "—what I'm saying, is he's still trying to pull that ethereal bisexual after all these years. Like the most obvious Mitski song. Big Thief? Come on. What he still hasn't learned is you pull the ethereal bisexual with Nine Inch Nails. The Arc-tick Monkey." (Jack says it exactly like that.) "Young MC."
DRY BAR: Ack! Jannie!
"But what I'm saying—" Jack is leaning back against the bar, bent sideways at an angle that does not look comfortable so he and Annie can people-watch and gossip with each other. Except he's not gossiping, he's talking Obama. "—what I'm saying, is he's still trying to pull that ethereal bisexual after all these years. Like the most obvious Mitski song. Big Thief? Come on. What he still hasn't learned is you pull the ethereal bisexual with Nine Inch Nails. The Arc-tick Monkey." (Jack says it exactly like that.) "Young MC."