I met Serah at a fern bar downtown. It was one of those devastatingly dark upscale dives, the dim recesses crammed with plastic plants, except for a few chameleon vines under grow lights in the window as a beacon to any pseudo-intellectual passing by looking for an oasis in the urban jungle. Serah was sitting at the bar, nursing a brightly colored pink mocktail, which matched her hair and lipstick. Her fingernails were long and black, as was her sequin trimmed synthetic outfit, and the head of the anaconda tattoo slithering out of her collar onto her neck. Her wrists were covered with translucent neon beads, and she wore two long strands of faux pearls around her neck.