Fast forward, a million years, you walk into a gay bar made of ice blocks…
“CJ, where can I get a fresh one of these?”
CJ dangles a long empty beer bottle in front of his Dodge Power belt buckle, taunting Rusty with a dumb smirk.
Rusty and CJ have been buds for years. They met while attending an Ice Flow Regeneration seminar here in Iqualuit a dozen years earlier. And now, here they are at their tenth seminar on the same subject, still swinging empty bottles.
They’re both husky and strong-looking bears, so neither one of them suspects the other one of being a furry piston, and they both have the professional grace of inventing absentee girlfriends to fill in gaps in personal conversations. Rusty calculates, incorrectly, that CJ is just being a man-pig right now, and not a flirt.
“CJ, are you sure you want another beer? You’re going to go extinct tonight – if you know what I mean.”
“I know my limits…” CJ stumbles against the white leather bar as he fails to finish his sentence, forgetting that he is in the middle of one.
“That’s it, Ceej. You’re coming back to the hotel right now.”
Rusty calls a taxi with his cell.
When the cab arrives, it’s a pink Cadillac driven by a model wearing green plastic spiked heels.
“Hey, since when does Barbie drive a cab?” CJ asks as they’re whisked off to the Conference Center at the Royal Kinderlesse Hotel.