Part Seven
Dan, Whitney, and Matt were sitting around the table, surrounded by empty beer cans. They passed a joint between them.
Tina was nestled in Dan's lap. He curled his fingers in her soft fur.
"Yeah, since Division has been closed I've been having the hardest time getting to work," Whitney said, "I feel like I have to go around half the city before I even get there. It's maddening."
Dan and Matt both nodded. There was a silence as the joint made another round.
"Look," Matt said, leaning back in his chair resting his left ankle on his thigh. He grabbed a cigarette from his pack on the table and lit one, inhaling deeply, "I don't mean to freak anyone out with this."
He took another drag.
"Yeah?" Whitney said slowly, sipping her beer.
Matt leaned forward in his chair, uncrossing his legs. He tapped a foot on the ground, "Don't you think something weird is going on?"
Dan and Whitney looked at each other.
"What do you mean?" Whitney asked.
"Well, I mean, there's all this roadwork. I live right in the middle of it, apparently. It's getting increasingly hard to get anywhere--"
"That's not so weird," Dan said, looking up from the creature shedding and purring in his lap.
"No, it's not." Matt said, "But to this extent? I can barely leave the neighborhood."
Whitney stared at the ashtray crowded with tar-stained butts.
Tina jumped off Dan's lap and sidled out the door. He stared down at his shirt, now covered in long, white and grey hairs. He brushed at them slowly, ineffectually.
"That's not what scares me, though," Matt said, turning his beer can in a slow circle on the table. He frowned at the can, "What scares me is these people I've seen around. At first I thought they were just bums, just sick bums, but--"
A dark-haired girl in tight black pants, too much black eyeliner, and a faded Tragedy shirt careened into the room. She collided with the refrigerator, and fell to the ground, laughing.
Another girl followed her in, "Sheila!" She shrieked, bending to help lift her friend, "Sheila! You are drunk!" She was dressed similarly, but wore a tight grey zip-up hoodie.
Sheila, still on the ground, shook her head. With her friend's help, she managed to stand and wobble in front of the fridge, "I need more beer!"
"No, Sheila! You do not need more beer! You need to go home! Where is Aaron?"
Sheila shook her head. She reached for the fridge handle, toppling forward again, "Fuck Aaron!" she mumbled into a picture of some religious figure fellating the president that someone had stuck to the fridge with strawberry-shaped magnets.
Suddenly Sheila's friend noticed the friends at the table, who had been watching this exchange silently. She stumbled over to them
"Hi," she greeted them, falling into a chair, "I'm-- I'm Sara," She smiled widely, nodding her head, "I'm Sara!"
"It's nice to meet you, Sara," Matt nodded, "Would you like a beer?"
"Yes!" Cried Sheila, who until now had remained slumped on the fridge, "More beer!"
"Sheila, no!" Sara shrieked, laughing. Dan winced at her piercing voice. "You're cut off," she scolded. She furrowed her fine, thinly-plucked brows. She was wearing orange eyeshadow and too much blush in a dark, thick slash on her cheek bone. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She began to laugh again.
Sheila took a large, brave step away from the safety of the fridge, "Do you guys have any Sssss-igarettes?" She took a misstep and, tripping over her own feet was launched into the counter, nearly tipping over the bottle of Jose Cuervo. Her eyes lit up, and she eagerly grabbed the bottle by the neck.
She held it aloft, like a trophy, "More booze!" She was grinning.
"Sheila, no!"
Sheila laughed and suddenly seemed to regain her balance as she did a weird little jig.
Sara stood up, nearly tripping over her chair trying to reach Sheila, "Give that back! You're cut off!"
Sheila cackled as she ran, light-footed, out the door and into the night. Sara stumbled after, tossing mumbled apologies over her shoulder.