(BILL walks past a large, open concourse in a shiny mall. The concourse is blocked off by velvet ropes. Looking, he sees that within the ropes a party is taking place: WAITERS and WAITRESSES dressed in all-black move amongst a well-dressed, almost in all-black CROWD with glasses of wine and hors d’oeuvres, several CHEFS in white work at various food stations, both entrees and desserts, and a band with a lithe female VOCALIST wearing a short haircut plays on a small riser.
BILL: Yes, I’m here for this.
HOSTESS This is the TimeKulture Swiss Watch Exhibition.
BILL: Yes. I’m here for this.
HOSTESS: You are? (She checks the guest list, presumably for “Only White Guy Within Five Miles Dressed in a Grey T-Shirt & Cargo Shorts and Wearing a Backpack”) Who are you?
BILL: (had this already chambered; he's had three beers and a plan all along, see!) I’m a travel reporter for the New York Times.
HOSTESS: This is a private event, sir.
BILL: (already seeing an opening in the velvet ropes at about 10 o’clock, where a bored WAITRESS is staring at her phone) Oh, okay. No problem.
HOSTESS: Yes, sir.
VOCALIST: (looking him up and down) Thank you. You’re supposed to be here?
BILL: Sure.
VOCALIST: Then, thanks.
BILL: Sure.
VOCALIST: You’re American.
BILL: Yes. I'm a travel writer for the New-
VOCALIST: -and you’re supposed to be here.
(Bill exits.)