“Has anyone seen, Claire? She’s late again.”
“Dude, last time I saw her was last night at the bar. She drank that drummer from Kilgore under the table and almost got into a fight with his girlfriend. She was talking with another guy when I left – oh you know what? It was that guy who was hanging out at the merch table all friggin’ night.”
“Jesus Christ … we need to get the van loaded. We’re supposed to be in Newark in six hours and it’s a nine-hour drive.”
“Want me to text her or something?”
“Yes for fuck’s sake, yes I do.”
“My goodness, Michael. There’s no need for that sort of language.”
“I’ll use whatever sort of language I godamm well – CLAIRE?!?”
“I just thought I would let you know in person that I will not be continuing the tour and it has been just a marvelous experience. I couldn’t thank you enough.”
“Alright … I get it. We’ve been getting on your case about drinking …ha ha …we’ll stop bugging you. Get changed and let’s go. We’re way fucking late–”
“Michael! Please. Your language. I assure you I am quite serious. I shouldn’t want to be gone from my beau any longer than necessary.”
“Your what? Enough of the gag, turn off the talking, get your clothes – “
“Oh I have everything I need. My beau has provided me with the most wonderful wardrobe and just a charming home. I simply had to learn to accept the pretty lights and breathe and accept and breathe and focus on the lights and …and oh dear me … I seem to have drifted there for a moment.”
“The …pretty lights …”
“Yes, Michael. The pretty lights provide quite a splendid life indeed.”