S n o w in February

Thirty-five minutes later there I was, feeling and looking fresh, until I received a displeasing voicemail. Angela must have called while I was narcissistically attending to myself in the portal called my bathroom.
“Hey Edward, it’s Angie. I can’t make it out of work early enough to hang out tonight. Don’t be mad with me, can we rain check? Call me back, bye.”
Damn, I thought to myself. I know I was not inclined to see her, but I also do not like being turned down, rescheduled or stood up. Angela now had two strikes; her scent was strike one, and this moment, strike two.
I could not let the situation result in a “wasted look” for the evening, so I chose to head out. The direction I pursued, mainly because of the population of women, was Side Pocket. It was a popular billiards and bowling alley. It was rare to actually go and play pool or bowl; that was primarily a group setting. I had full intention of perusing the women and carousing until it was almost too much.
I decided not to sit around the house and wait until primetime, and I left for happy hour at Side Pocket.