One Last Performance
I reminded Shelly that I was Scrooge and that she was Jacob Marley in the play we'd performed. Shelly was fucking drunk and teetering, able to stay standing by grabbing the light pole every few seconds or so. Her hair was greasy from the cigarette smoke (she smoked like a Frenchman) and she rambled a lot. But in her rambling I could still hear our performance from a couple nights before, still feel the effects of the crowd's applause. More of our troop were passed out drunk in the Jeep, still running in the cold weather. For whatever reason I still had a weird amount of energy. Suddenly Franco got out of the Jeep. I want to go home, he said. That was good news. This was his apartment complex that we were parked outside of. I told Shelly to get in the car, that I'd see her in a minute. She gave me her Jeep keys, I snagged Franco's apartment keys, I grabbed Franco's arm, and I led him to his apartment. Thank god it was on the first floor because he kept swaying and ...