"Let me guess," Nate replied sourly, "Every goth-punk wanna be with black lips, pale skin and a black wardrobe?" The man picked up one of the beers the waitress brought and chugged about half of it before sitting down on a nearby tabletop, careful not to put his full weight on it. After Remy lined up his next shot and sent the cue spinning, Nate made sure the striped ball it hit veered far left of its goal and came to a slow stop in the middle of the table with only a slight twinge of his fingers.