You’ll quit work early. You’ll appreciate how this city is a miracle of science stolen from the desert. You’ll have a light cocktail, maybe a salad. You’ll sit somewhere shady—like a confessional—and catch up on some magazines. You’ll change clothes. Gentlemen: Fogelfoot suggests a breathable linen suit. Ladies: You look good in anything, and we’ve always told you that. You will arrive at Harvard & Stone refreshed and relaxed. You will order a drink. Perhaps you will order two and have the bartender deliver it clandestinely, like you’re a drinky Jean Valjean. You will appreciate the ambience, the DJ, the frank availability of the other attendees. The Janks will appear at 10 p.m. and will play that “Hide Your Eyes” song, among others. You will hug your drink closer. You will feel the presence of Another, and it will not be unwelcome. You will clap, shed a tear, get another drink. Then Fogelfoot will mount the stage like it is a stamp, or a treasured butterfly. Fogelfoot will take the stage as if it is a heretofore untamed beast. Your carefully tailored outfit will seem tighter. You will order another drink. You will say, “I am in the exact place I should be, and now I know why I am here.” You will wonder at the shapes. You will ask, “Can my company book you for its high-dollar event?” You will question your teenaged agnosticism. You will buy another drink. You will understand all the lyrics. You will go home a changed person, probably with another changed person, you rake, you.