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    âWelcome to the party.â The barâs dead. Itâs kept spirited only by the usual drunks and their graveyard of beer bottles, but Tommy mimes preoccupation like a professional. He distracts himself with the critical task of rearranging pint glasses, methodically wiping the counters. Itâs a few more hours until dinner, so he can only bide his time. His gaze barely flits away from his work, his tone fragrant with soft sarcasm, â--Whatâll it be? The usual?â
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  â  JUST  A  QUICK  LITTLE  QUESTION  for  the  peanut  gallery  ---  how  exactly  DOES  one  go  about  finding  a  roommate  without  running  the  risk  of  ending  up  as  a  lifetime  cautionary  tale  these  days  ?  â  romy  clicks  her  bright  red  pen  repeatedly  ,  leg  jostling  under  the  table  with  her  usual  restlessness.  â  iâm  starting  to  lose  hope  here.  â
âââââSHE KNEW that the holidays were a rough time for a lot of people. sheâd been there herself. when things were bad, it always seemed like everyone was happier in the world, having romantic outings with their partners or hosting instagrammable dinners with their families. for a while after the death of her parents, riley got especially mopey around the holidays, but did her best to hide it for the sake of her daughter. it wasnât until her brother told her that she needed to snap out of it that she finally did, and, just after her daughterâs fourth birthday, she hosted her first âorphanâs thanksgivingâ ( an appropriate title, she thought, given the fact that she was an orphan herself ). the first year, it was just riley, logan, james, and a couple of rileyâs friends from work. it had since grown, as riley got âhooked on the feelingâ and started inviting just about everyone that she ran into in the street. this year would be no exception.
    âi was just saying that, maybe, if you didnât have anywhere else to be, you could join us. there will be food and friends, no family except for, well, mine, and so many people bring food along with them that it really ends up being a full-blown feast. i know we would be so happy to have you, and at the very least youâll eat for free and stay out of the cold. i donât need an answer now, just tell me youâll at least consider it??â
    âApparently a spliff on the job is patently unacceptable,â Max chuckles airily, leaning conspiratorially into the nearest person whoâs not shooting him deathly glares. Granted, heâs using the term âjobâ very loosely. He winks and offers the smoke out. âGood thing I donât mind the dirty looks.â
âEugghhh,â The sound that left Dexterâs mouth as he fixed his grey Deadpool embellished beanie on his head was nothing short of tragic, a resigned sigh that was on par with any man who was having the worst day imaginable.Â
( In reality, it was his day off -- score! -- and he had errands to run that seemed less desirable to him than a day on his PlayStation 4. )
âChristmas is sweet and all but Iâd for real rather work two shifts straight than have to go buy gifts. Then thereâs the wrapping. The pressureâs too much. There needs to be a month between November and December.â
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    âI dunno, Iâm kinda into it,â Molly shrugs emphatically, cracking a joker grin. Granted this onset of holiday cheer may have been brought on by the three deliciously chocolatey pints of porter sheâs just slammed. That, or the turkey hat someoneâs popped onto the crown of her head. She poses, all blue steel, âProper dashing, no? I mean, yeah, itâs all a bit... politically dubious, but anythingâs better than gathering a Thanksgiving feast comprised of items from the Taco Bell dollar menu.â Because, really, who cooks these days?Â
Backlit by passing floats and twirling performers, Molly bounces on the balls of her feet. âRight then. How many shots will it take for you to have a dance with me?â
âI have to admit, Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidaysâ Penelope said. âWhatâs not to love about a holiday dedicated to food?â She had learned to cook at a young age, mostly out of necessity. Now, she loved preparing dishes for the holiday. âEspecially when pumpkin pie is one of those foods.â
"Aw, come on,â Leo bemoans with a cigarette between his lips, shaking his now extinct lighter in the veins hopes of a resurrection type miracle that didnât happen. A couple of sparks and he was left with nothing more than the confirmation that his zippo was donezo.Â
( A dramatisation of the highest order, it could easily be filled, but that was still time between him and his desired vice. )
Leo was aware that there was an irony to the how he had gone from a casual smoker to a frequent one when he first gave up alcohol, deciding it was the lesser of two evils. He had cut back, but the immediate aftermath of a meeting like the one he had just left made him antsy and that was best dealt with in one way.Â
âHey, sorry,â He says to the first person in his vicinity, holding up his unlit cigarette as a pre-explanation for his interruption.Â
âYou wouldnât have a light handy, would you?âÂ
