In a bar, two women embrace, stumble, and fall down laughing. A frowning bartender removes their drinks from the table. This attitude can be found in any bar. There is a feigned air of dismay or shock, as if the bartenders don’t know what they’re serving or why it would have such an effect. They don’t want to remember the reason for their customers’ drinking. The stumbling customer spoils the buzzed image of happiness that is ghostly attainable in the euphoria after the first drink. We sneer at failed attempts to escape from suffering. We want to pretend we’re not like the drunk customer. There is a refracted reflex against the secret knowledge that we find our humanity only in our animal activities, while the freedom of second nature remains out of reach.