In the back of the bar, Penny continues to add nothing but haze to the atmosphere, her cigarette in an ashtray. The loss of interest is mutual, in a moment it will snuff itself out, ash and a lack of oxygen overtaking the tiny orange ember. It will happen most likely in the same minute she chooses to answer the phone she left on top of the table next to the ashtray. She watches it vibrate on the table in its holder, shuttling back and forth like a demented mexican jumping bean.