the bar was closed

And they were sitting around the dingy little room....Trixie scratched at her close-cropped scalp, free at last from the wig....she screwed open a quart of malt liquor, and took a big swallow, and leaned back against the madras bed spread stapled to the wall.  She stared out the window at all the crap that got dumped from the City drifting around in outer space....that was one of her favorite passtimes lately seemed like....Slippy, the nomad lizard barback, sat in one corner smoking a hookah, somehow making daisy chains of smoke rings with his scaly lips and forked tongue....in another corner, the sax sucking cyborg had punched open a can of rocket fuel, and was mixing it with motor oil, and having himself a good ol' time.  A roboroach slithered under the door, decided it didn't like the company, and went back out.  "You know why I like being a cyborg?" asked the sax player....Nobody asked him why, but he went ahead and told them anyway...."Cyborgs don't have to worry about women or children or dogs or cats or parrots or any damn thing that needs to be taken care of.....nothing to whine at you and want attention...except maybe a bad ball bearing...."  Trixie thought about that.....no whining?  Where do you go to sign up with that outfit?  The door crashed open, and Wendy and Lisa stumbled in, dragging Cowboy Bob between them....they all fell to the green shag carpet, and started singing  a song that was one long string of off color limericks.....Trixie went back to work on her quart, and Cowboy Bob crawled toward the hookah......