December 31

"Rescue me. There's no one fun here. It's, like, forced festive."
The New Year's Eve SOS text from Dante, Alice's best friend.

Every message is a movie quote.

Alice is alone, sitting in her too-small efficiency, what she calls "cozy".
Sitting in her armchair, she battily dons her mother's old fur coat and hat.
She refuses the muff, on principle.
Auld Layne Sayne rolls on repeat, the lights are off, her champagne bottle is corked and in-hand, and every surface--every single surface--is covered in rainbow twinkle lights.

Alice is naked under the coat, tears rolling down her chest, and this newest message, lighting up her iPhone, has forced an unconscious recoil from glow.
Vampiress.

"Also, I wanna make sure you're not hanging from your shower rod," he adds, when Alice fails to respond.
She always has her phone, Dante knows it, and Alice hates him for it.
She smirks at him from her chair and pops an eyebrow.

"You're fit for a straight-jacket, Al."
"...fucked three ways towards the weekend."

Alice throws her phone at the ground.
A loud clunk because of the wooden floor.
She worries about the wrath of the blind lady downstairs and stands up.

Carefully, determinedly, Alice lifts the coat to her waist with both arms, hands situated on her hips, and, slowly, she pees on her iPhone, aiming carefully for the curvy square, all-purpose button.
Girls can aim, too.

There's ankle spray, and Alice wipes herself with her right hand.
None on the coat, she flicks it off in one go of it.
.....
"Good morning, Al."
Alice stretches her legs in her chair.

"I haven't had a good morning in a good, hot minute, D. Shut up, please."

"I don't even know what we're talking about anymore, Al."

"See, that's your problem, D. Right there....
...I always know exactly what we're talking about."