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Chapter 1 Tiny Mis-Matched Saucers
   Such an obnoxious thing for her to ask of him! Nate really doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell her the truth, lie, or just ignore it? He opts for none of the above and tries to think of an obnoxious question for her instead. He opens the fridge and grabs some sandwich fixings (he has no intention of making a sandwich) and coughs out...
"Seriously...what the fuck is your problem Darce? Have you even told that shithead what's up??" Darcy, the perennial victim, begins to tear up and TRIES to blubber something incoherent but actually manages to answer the question quite succinctly, albeit in the form of a question..."noooooo?" She turns away and does her whole hyperventilation spiel... "I was just...*hiccup.........I was going to....*HICCUP!" Nate interrupts her staccato sniveling by slamming the fridge door shut.
     There is a large glass bowl with several mis-matched tiny saucers and a clunky old vase precariously perched atop, which under normal circumstances merely rattles when opening or closing the door. This time the vase tips over sideways with a crash but at least manages to stay in the bowl. He leaves the Turkey & Mayo on the counter, then leaves the kitchen, then leaves the house altogether with only the tiny noises of glass settling against porcelain, the final echoing statement on the matter. She knows he won't be be back for days this time...maybe even weeks and is suddenly overcome by nausea.  
    With an emphatic flourish, Nate punches his speed dial to the person Darcy LOATHES the most in this world just in case she is watching him from the window as he slides into his car. He sees her out of the corner of his eye just standing there at the door...holding a squeeze bottle of Mayo and wearing a ridiculous clown frown........sort of like Laura Dern in "Blue Velvet". As he revs his engine melodramatically all he can hear are her whiny nasal words pounding in his head like a sinus infection....."Will you marry meeeeeeeeeeeee?
    Patsy's voice mail picks up but he pretends he's actually talking to her, for Darcy's sake of course...."I'm coming over.....pause.....NOW!....pause....WOOHOO ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY ROAD TRIP!!!!
He won't have to give a real answer if he goes to Vegas...
Chapter 2 Leather Vest
    Patsy gets her messages and immediately starts packing. She blurts "OH SHIT, I forgot to tell him my license is suspended!" Her room mate Sorry asks "Why do you need your fucking license?"
"Road trip with Nate"
"He won't let you drive anyway tard" 
    Sarah a.k.a. "Sorry" to her friends sits with a laptop blaring Anime Shorts while simultaneously watching the news on mute. She also passively watches Patsy flit around the apartment gathering arbitrary things VERY arbitrarily and immediately putting all of them back saying "Why the hell would I need that??" Sarah likes to have her friends call her "Sorry" so that any statement or question was an automatic apology to HER regardless of the circumstances.
Patsy yells from from the next room..."Sorry do you know where I put my leather vest?"
"Which one"
"The one that I can wear without a shirt under it!"
"You mean the semi-slutty vest as opposed to the tits falling out suck on them now dammit vest?"
    She lets that one slide....no time for bitchy banter right now. He sounded BEYOND upset this time....almost desperate. She knows this is a really bad idea but she doesn't question going, even tho she might very well lose her job as a result. Trying to ignore Sorry's obvious if not menacing disapproval, she starts a load of laundry even though she knows things won't be dry in time. She just doesn't know what to do with herself. She KNOWS that Nates idea of hell is sitting around in disdain filled silence with Sorry while she gets herself ready to go, so she just starts throwing whatever is clean onto the bed.
"Sorry will you check my balance while you're on line? I need to know how incredibly fucked I will be when I get back!"
"HAH! Like you're coming back.....TARD!"
    Panic begins to rise in Patsy's throat at that thought...a very old dulled kind of terror. In her therapy sessions she was asked to describe what that feeling looks like and the best image she could come up with was an old rusty steak knife abandoned at a campsite. The blade slightly bent and almost free of the once wooden, now charred and cracked handle.....simultaneously dried out and yet moldy somehow....only the layers of time could account for those two diametrically opposed ideas.

Perhaps as a way of proving Sorry wrong she chose her smallest overnight bag.



Chapter 3 Infectious Grooves








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