“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.”