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The Room: Post-Mortem

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Lisa poured herself a glass of scotchka and looked in the mirror:  she looked hot.  She took a pensive sip of the vodka-diluted brownish beverage and gazed helplessly around the room.  From each corner, the spoons cast accusatory looks at her.  It was as if they too knew that she was now a defenseless non-contributor to an otherwise hostile and overly competitive society, because she was a woman.

“Why, Johnny, why,” she gargled into the scotchka and took her habitual place underneath the staircase, waiting for the front door to fling open.

“Well, it’s official,” Claudette spouted, forgetting her customary greeting of “Hi, darling,” as she waltzed into the room.  “That jerk of my brother is getting the house and I’m just going to have to die on a street corner in the Tenderloin, like some hobo.”  Casting a disapproving look at her daughter, Claudette paused with her arms crossed.

“Oh hi, mom.”

“What are you doing sitting there and feeling sorry for yourself?  It’s been days since Johnny passed away.  Isn’t it time you get up and go find yourself a new husband?  Someone has to pay for my breast cancer treatment!”

“Don’t worry about it, mom,” Lisa mumbled, taking a big swig of the scotchka.  “I’m sure everything will be fine.  I just have to sell Johnny’s car and that should cover some of it.”

“Well, what are you doing here all alone?” Claudette went on.  “When I was your age, I had people around me!  Where is that skanky friend of yours, Michelle?”

“She had to go make out with Mike,” Lisa sighed.

“And what about that nice Mark boy?”

“He’s busy.”

“And what about that special kid, Denny?”

“He had to go make out with Mike too.”

“Oh.”  Claudette walked up to the mantelpiece and stared at the oppressive spoons, her useless offspring’s remaining companions.  “Did you ever find out what kind of money he owed that terrible person with the gun?”

“I think it was US Dollars, mom,” Lisa yawned and finished the scotchka.  She slowly got up, using the stairwell as leverage, and fixed her mother with an empty, but strangely attractive gaze.  “Did you want to talk about anything else?  Because if not, I think I’ll go up to the roof and see if anything’s happening there.”

“Oh, Lisa, really… You’ll never be able to take care of yourself.”

And Claudette walked out, leaving the front door wide open.

An infuriatingly pleasant breeze brushed past Lisa’s beautiful face.  She decided not to worry about it.