It’s 12:46 a.m. in Hollywood.

“Of course Gorgeous Girl is sitting on the Black Couch,” I say to my co-worker Wil, who seems genuinely amazed by her beauty although her location is a lot more predictable than amazing to us both.

The Black Couch.

That’s where all the Gorgeous Girls sit at some point in the night every night; sometimes it’s upon entering, usually on the arm of some guy who has a black leather couch of his own at home, sans his entourage yet still equipped with his bad attitude, and sometimes it’s closer to the end of the night, where alcohol, boredom or even tired feet make the Black Couch that much more appealing to the GGs and all the guys who love them.

“I wonder where her man is,” Wil says, sounding like a robot hastily reading a cue card, as I know Wil was actually wondering when her man was COMING BACK so he could possibly take this alone-time-on-the-couch-with-a-GG cue of his own to ask her the same question as well as a few others before said man does come back.

“You said she’s been sitting there alone for over an hour,” I reply. “Maybe she doesn’t have a man.”

“Yeah,” Wil sarcastically flows. “Maybe she’ll think it’s cute that I’m wearing this all-black uniform as I small talk with her while wiping off her table. Maybe she’ll really open up then and tell me her life story as I tell her to hurry and finish her drink because the club’s about to close and I have to clean up all the tables.

“Maybe, MAYBE, after all that she’ll tell me she’ll wait for me to finish cleaning and at 3 a.m. we can leave together ... because she doesn’t have a man.”

“You keep the dream alive,” I say. “I gotta get back to the door.”