“Yeah?” Midge asks with a smile. “Thanks. You’re Rose, right?” It’s hard for Midge to forget the name when the other woman shares it with her mother.

It’s a typical Wednesday after her set and Midge is about to enjoy a drink before she heads home. The giant octopus bartender puts a martini down in front of her with a slither of one of its arms. “Thanks Harry,” she says to him.