April.
I hadn’t heard from Ann for weeks. Was she blissfully involved with that Glen guy? Was she miserable? I didn’t know. And I couldn’t ask Ms. DeAngela, because she’d stopped coming to the eye.
chemistry
rule of threes
Thursday night. The eye
In a dark, back corner of the bar, Roger, pissed, reprimanded Jack. Jack grinned, embarrassed, a schoolboy talking to the principal. He hid a bottle of Corona behind his back and nodded sheepishly at everything Roger said.
Mike and I watched from a table.
“What’s he saying?” I asked.
“He’s telling Jack he’s getting too sloppy on stage. He’s gotta cut back.”
chemistry
School cafeteria.
Bob ate lunch with Doug Borges and Charlie Martins. At the entrance to the gym area, a list had been posted. I read the list, and infuriated, tore it off the door, walked over to Bob’s table, and thrust it at him.
“What the hell is this?” I said.
“What?” said Bob.
“She’s a Witch?”
“So?”
“You signed up to do a Monty Python sketch?”
“Yeah. Is that okay, your highness?”
“No. It’s not okay.”
