Alan can be found admiring--if that's the word (it isn't)--decor that looks as if it's been hand-picked by Ted Nugent and nursing an unexpected pang of homesickness to go with his scotch. This, he suspects, would be Denny Crane's bar of choice were he to find himself inexplicably transported to a city presided over by gods and suffering from all manner of pest control problems.

He has a ticket for the door prize in his pocket and some very impressive bruising under his impressively expensive suit. He will not be dancing this evening.