(This sort of thing was fun on the RPGnet Tangency, so I figured why not. I do not mean any offense by any of this and feel free to give me the short end of the stick if you like. I know I will. And similarities between what follows and reality are purely accidental. Appologies all around)

"Jack, you made it. Glad you to see you."

"Hello, Ron. So the shindig is in full swing?"

"Yes. Most of the people got here about a half hour ago."

"This is a nice place. Where did you find it?"

"Oh," said Ron stroking his chin thoughtfully, "Vincent set it up. I think he use the stuff from kill puppies for satan."

"You mean the part about imagine your high school..."

Ron smiled. "Yes, that's it."

"That explains the basketball hoops. So right now we're in Vincent's high school gymnasium?" asked Jack.

"Ah well, we're in a high school gymnasium. Not necessarily Vincent's. I'm imagining my own high school gymn," Ron said.

"I'm imagining the gymn from Happy Days," Jack said.

Ron paused. "I see. What's in the bag?"

Jack shuffled the plain brown shopping bag. "Oh, I brought some chips."

"That was thoughtful of you." Ron took the bag and peered inside. "Jack, these are poker chips."

"I know," Jack said.

Ron closed the back and handed it back to Jack. "Well, walk around, miggle. The bar is right over there. Have a good time."

"I will, Ron. Later." Jack sauntered over to the bar and order a cola and regarded the room around him.

(This is where you add stuff)

I watched the guy approach me. I'd seen a lot of people come through this high school gymnasium, but this fella looked like he meant business. I could tell by the chips.

As he pulled up a stool, I wiped the bar off and set a napkin down in front of him. "So, what'll it be?" I asked.

"Uh, well, I wanted to ask you a question."

"Shoot."

"Why is there a bar in this gymnasium? What kind of school did Vincent go to, anyway?"

I shrugged. Obviously this guy was a bit off. I had no idea who this Vincent person was. I decided to play it tough. "Hey listen, pal," I said roughly. "I just work here. Now do you wanna drink or don't ya?"

Taken aback, the man with the chips squared his shoulders and said, "Gimme a cola."

I filled a glass and set it on the napkin. The guy thanked me by flipping a chip at me. I caught it in both hands. It was nice-- a clay chip, not one of those cheap plastic knockoffs you get at the drug store. I put the chip in the pile behind the counter with the others and began to dance. The guy with the chips didn't notice; he was too busy surveying the room.

A pickup game of basketball over at the far hoop seemed to absorb his attention. After a minute or two, he drained his cola and made his way across the gym.