"Fuzzy navel?"
  "Nope."
  "Screw Driver?"
  "Nuh-uh."
  "Well…," Barry stopped. Would he have to order a drink that tasted like alcohol?
  "'Scuse me," said the bartender answering his phone. "Reagan LA Smog Bar, Sven speaking." Barry turned to look at Vanity Plait. She had stopped talking to a gold-toothed man with a 49ers jersey on. Looking a bit blue, she got up to leave.