It wasn’t a particularly packed night at Valhalla when Marie went on stage to play. The exact number of people within the audience was seven, including Jones, Mr. Ellison, and Mrs. Kyle. The air conditioning was turned up as high as it could go. Still, something wafted over Marie as the house lights went down and the stage lights went up. She hesitated for a second and no time longer before walking confidently and calmly out onto the stage. Her head would have been filled with a good amount of nonsense when she went up, given that it was usually filled with such contents, but she felt a clear focus to get to the keyboard and just start playing.

And play she did, starting with “Mellow My Mind” by Neil Young, coincidentally enough. Afterwards there was a brief spattering of applause, and with every brief spattering of applause she heard, a little bit more was chipped away at her self esteem. She felt as though the audience was playing a practical joke on her and her sense of expectations.

Eventually, the show was over and everyone was asked to leave. It was at this point that Marie realized she had forgotten her vaporizer in the apartment and asked to bum one of Jones’ many cigarettes. When they were out in the cold of night, smoking away is when Jones said this.

“That night, sitting there, watching you perform.” they said. “It reminded me of a quote from one of my favorite authors.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?” Marie asked, exhaling blue smoke.

Jones shook their head. “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” This put a smile on Marie’s face. Before they were both asked to leave the premises of the theater house, Mrs. Kyle provided Marie’s portion of the door money. It was barely what she made in two hours, let alone two days.

So, Marie Joyce walked up the eight flights of stairs to her drab apartment with her best friend and felt a sense of contentment that hadn’t become of her in a very long time. She checked her answering machine and was greeted by the joyous, confused voice of her father. Carl congratulated her on a job well-done, something that he was sure of her deserving without physically being there himself. Marie and Jones shared chit-chat for a few hours after hearing this message. The nature of their chit-chat was typical of conversation of that caliber. They were two young persons still very much getting to know each other and learning as much as they could in a short period of time so that the information may become useless and mundane as the years go on. During this particular session of chit-chat, Marie revealed that she had never learned how to ride a bicycle.

“Really?” Jones replied to this information. They were both smoking cigarettes now.

“I was always afraid of the things, same with cars.” Marie said. “Why do you think I take the bus everywhere?”

“You don’t like the danger of it?” Jones asked, hunched over like some sort of primate.

“No, I don’t like the responsibility of keeping danger at bay. Let the danger come to me all it wants. At this point, I’m used to it. But don’t tell me I’m the only hope. If I was the only hope, damn this world would be depressing.” It was at this point that the phone rang a second time. It was the coroner's office in the town that inhabited Carl Joyce’s rusty two-story shack. They were informing Marie that her father had kicked the bucket.