Party of Fourteen

The facts have been changed to protect the innocent storyline. The names of the characters have not been changed because everyone thinks those people can take care of themselves (in a lawsuit or in a knife fight).

Not chilly except when compared to the warmth of the day. Like a dream of the gaslit streets of Paris in noir 1930's, we walk into a clean and well-lighted café. If you weren't one of us, you would expect the place to be empty at this hour. It was not the entire cohort, only the fellow students of one graduate class, but nonetheless they filled the room and were causing an uproar. A woman bearing a remarkable resemblance to Ernest Hemmingway passes us walking out. I watch the back of her head for a second, but Sarah calls out to us. That beautiful smile she always has.

"Come in, come in, it's not late. Sit." Daffodil patterned dress, she pulls wilting flowers off the tables. The flowers disappear into the camouflage. It's late. You'd think she would be tired and ready to go home. The energy behind the smile. We feel better already.

April is playing piano with a sphinx smile on her face. I am only playing this thing because I want to, and if I thought you thought I was doing it because you wanted me to, then I wouldn't do it because you might think I was doing it because you wanted me to, and even though that would force me not do it because you want me to, then at least I won't think you thought that's why.

Max, with his homemade periscope keeps looking over Sammy's head, searching. He thinks we can't see him because of the periscope. Actually, we can see down into the periscope and inside his brain. It isn't as disheveled as he leads us to believe. I have my own Sammy. Sammy was my cousin who shot himself. Jesus, can't people just die normally? I don't want to depress everyone. Einstein convinced me there is a reason beyond the rhyme, so get on board people!

Emily, wearing garters, chewing gum, feathers in her hair. She moves from table to table.

"Everything okay here?

"Sure, can you give us a minute?"

"Of course." She doesn't work here, and she isn't planning to bring anybody any fucking food, she just likes to move from table to table. One-Eyed Garrard, the barkeep/bouncer, wipes the counter down and keeps an eye on her, keeps the eye on her. He wants to circumvent trouble, but he also enjoys figuring her out. He's still working on that.

He also wants to figure out Kandace. Tall, and each time you look at her, taller; Kandace never eats but she evaluates everything on the menu, "What's in the Cobb salad?"

"I'll check," Emily says. She's not going to check, which is okay because Kandace is not going to eat. She looks for something else on the menu, Emily goes to another table.

Mark explains to Rachel, who shares a table with him because here it's a sit anywhere you want place. He explains, Emily is always looking for people she has already found, and Kandace is hungry for things she has already eaten.

Rachel nods like she understands because she does understand. She understands everything. She carries lemon squares in her pockets and understands the places in her heart where Chloe and the other Chloe live, and she understands both. The only thing she doesn't understand is her own logic of herself. Questions and lemon squares. Mark manufactures and distributes his kindness generously. It helps him understand this too.

"I'll have shepherd's pie, please."

Emily gives him a thumbs up sign and turns away. Mark won't get pie tonight, shepherd's or otherwise. We know it, he knows it. But he'd request it again if she asked him again. Everyone is drinking but that's because writers all drink and this is where they go, and that is what they do.