Date:         Thu, 9 Oct 1997 23:54:25 -0400
From: Colin Principe <cprincipe@ILINKS.NET>
Subject:      Re: INT: Writers Party: Evening

<Warning - major tense shift here due to contextual quoting> :-)



        Colin arrived late in the evening, never being one to be the first to
arrive anywhere.  He decided to select the option on the clothing optional,
and arrived ready for the sun, although it was already dark out.  He wore a
Margaritaville T-shirt, an old pair of khaki shorts, and an aging pair of
Doc Martens that looked as if they had been around the world several times.
 He had decided to come packed for the party with a pair of swim trunks, in
the event that the beach would be an option instead of the haunted house.
He lowered a battered knapsack to the ground and produced several bottles,
including some Barcardi 151 for Dustin, tequila, vodka, Corona, and
everclear for any cheap drunks in the crowd.  He had just wandered up to an
assembled group to ask about his seating assignment when the transported
flashed again and Judy appeared:


>        "Uhh, I think Judy's lost it," Tom whispers.  "Look,
>in her right hand, what *is* that anyway?"
>        She stands there in the sand, swaying slightly, quiet
>now, gazing up at the night sky.  In her right hand is a small
>device, a red die on top of which is screwed a small
>metal cylinder.  A small brass tube protrudes from one side of the
>die, and as she raises it to her face, she puts the end of
>the tube in her mouth.  "Sure glad I had this around," she
>says, as she pulls a pink bic from the folds of her pareo.
>MaryAnne cozies up close, then Colin, then Thomas and
>Tom.  They form a circle around her, a circle of backs towards the crowd,
>and nothing is heard from them for a while. Quite a
>long while, as a matter of fact.
>        Finally, they turn around.  "Munchies!" Judy yells,
>stumbling towards the food......
>


        Colin instantly headed toward a heaping tray of fresh-cut pineapple and
started contentedly piling chunks down his throat.  When the edge was taken
off his hunger, he sat down contentedly at a long, rough hewn table and
enjoyed some roasted prok and other delectables.  Finally sated, he started
to inquire about the evening's festivities.
        "What sort of entertainment did you have in mind, Phanny?"
        "Well, I was going to ask you to play guitar . . ."
        "But then you realised that such an act would drive people screaming int
o
the water attempting to drown themselves?"
        "Exactly.  So I thought we might start the evening off with a little
singing by Daisy Mae. . . "
        Right that minute, on cue, Daisy bounded up on stage, beaming.
        "Thank y'all, for my first song I'd like ta do one of my personal
favorites, by Fleetwood Mac.
        " ' Lovin' you isn't the right thing to do. . . ' "
        Colin smiled warmly and slowly inched his way down the bench, looking up
at the somberly lit house on the hill. . .

*****************************************************************************
        But I really must admit that I am
        Glad that I am living
        There were times that I would pray
        To God and ask that I was not
        And I've learned that taking really isn't
        Half of what is giving
        And the secret to your wonder is
        The oneness in your soul
                - Cowboy Mouth, "So Sad"
Colin Principe
cprincipe@ilinks.net                               www.ilinks.net/~st.jon
****************************************************************************