I feel fabulous. Last night, Holly danced with me from “Let’s Dance” all the way through “How Soon is Now?” She took my hands, looked at me with her dazzling blue eyes, and said, “This is the perfect ending.” I came home, showered, watched a porn clip of a girl who used go to our high school, and then slept like a cat on homework.I reach for my nightstand and pick up my phone. There are no texts from Holly. Or Stella. I check the time. Fuck. I kiss my cat. She cringes. I’m going to be late for work.With hopes of keeping my flawless record, I rush to make myself marginally presentable, abbreviating my morning ritual to only forty minutes. “Deep Hit of Morning Sun” plays sixteen times. I put on my jeans, Chucks, and an off-white oversized sweater, appropriate for today’s refreshingly moderate weather. I grab my board and carefully bomb down the hill, stopping only briefly at my neighbor’s driveway to pet Iman.Seven and a half minutes late, I power-walk through the theatre doors, directly into my manager.
