The last time we saw Don Draper, he was sitting at a bar, drowning his sorrows (or maybe anesthetizing his recent “hot tooth” extraction) while his aspiring-actress wife, Megan, was shooting a commercial.
“Excuse me,” an anonymous young blonde said, sidling up to our anti-hero and nodding toward another attractive woman at the end of the bar. “My friend down there, she was wondering: Are you alone?”
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8 p.m. Sunday