And that's when the sprinklers came on.
She was so surprised that she had cried out like a little girl, something she hadn't done in years. When the shock had cleared, anger had set in; surely she was about to stumble upon some acid-coated revelation before the watery interruption. So she snapped at the bartender to put her drinks on her tab, brushed droplets from her stage outfit (pure silk, now utterly ruined!), and walked out the door without so much as changing into street clothes or notifying her boss.
Now she walked one of Setebos City's many sidewalks, (baraely) clothed in dripping purple silk and shivering in the night air. Her getup got her a few looks, but not many; this was a city of sin, after all. It was exactly what she wanted.
The sudden scent of fresh-ground coffee beans assaulted her nostrils, and she pushed open the closest door without looking. Not surprised to find herself in a coffee shop, she plunked a few bills down on the counter and demanded a large cup of the strongest, blackest stuff they made.
She hated the taste of coffee; it was bitter and chalky, and she laughed at those people who called themselves connoisseurs of the muddy stuff. But when she needed a little boost towards sobering up, she found it was always the stuff you hated the most that snapped you back towards reality.
There she sat, at one of those little round tables pretentious coffeeshops seem to have, nursing a hot cup of bitterness and taking the occasional sip.