Who: Claire Saunders and Topher Brink
Where: Dr. Saunders' office
What: Getting a physical

( turn my head and cough? )

Who: Laura Wingfield

I used to play the flute when I was a baby.

Guess in many ways I'm still sort of a baby. Jailbait, they used to call me, before I had my birthday. Well I've had my birthday now and legally I'm all grown up but I'm still a baby.

But when I was really a baby, like four or five, I used to play the flute for the talent part of pageants. I remember it was my favorite part. Momma says I used to be pretty good, I suppose, but I don't really remember that. I just liked the music.

Stopped playing the flute when I was nine, though, when I quit pageants. Momma says there's no use in a talent if it's not getting you somewhere. I do miss it, though, sometimes. Not the on-stage part, just the music part.

I didn't play anything all through school, not even tag or hide and seek or spin the bottle. I'm much too shy.

And I'm in college now and I'm still to shy to play anything. I asked Momma if I could try the flute again, but she's right that it's been too many years and I'd never get any good at it. Except I'm majoring in Music anyway. Theory. Music Theory is my major. So I learn how to play the flute and piano and the violin and the trumpet but I don't actually play any of them. I'm too fragile, Momma says, and she's right.


Still. Sometimes I think I'd like to try the flute again, but I'm too shy.

Who: Jimmy Thurber

So I'm in my dorm today practicing my SWEET soulja boy moves (They are fly. Let me tell you.) when all of a sudden I start thinking about these crunk lyrics my man Soulja's got going. The man is a genius. And I'm not just saying that because he could wrap my ass around until it was a hat. I really mean it.

The only part that confuses me is when you're out there on the dance floor. Kickin' it. (Kickin' it. Not people. Don't kick people. They have a tendency to kick back.) And all of a sudden in the middle of these phat beats, Soulja goes HATERS GETTIN' MAD 'CAUSE --

And then I don't understand. I have no idea what the next line is. I'm pretty sure it's HATERS GETTIN' MAD 'CAUSE I GOT ME SOME BATHING APES but I'm not quite sure. It could also be I GOT ME SOME BABIES MADE which doesn't sound to me like something to celebrate, but hey if my man Soulja's got an expanding family I'm happy for him. I guess he'll be able to support those kids with all the money he's made rapping about them. Maybe he'll put out an album of lullaby covers. That'd have some hot beats. Damn. I'm a little jealous he thought of it first.

Anyway. Point is. I'm not sure whether it's BATHING APES or BABIES MADE but if Soulja's got 'em, I need 'em. Quick, which one of you lovely ladies wants to be my baby mama? And where's the closest city zoo?


THUG LIFE, YO.

Who: Libertine

Denham City, home to superheroes and, like Libertine, supervillains. Some are successful balancing their hero selves and their alter egos, but some, like Libertine, hit some snags.

I was late getting in last night. Job had gone wrong, just a little. The safe door had automatic hinges -- security devices I didn't realize. The door swung closed on me while I was raiding through deposit boxes. I had a handful of pearls in one hand and a perfect diamond ring in the other, when next thing I know, there's this terrible clang. I look up? I'm sealed in. Took the rest of my incompetent team another thirty minutes to realize I was suck, and then twenty trying to get me out. Had to blast their way through. Have you ever been on the wrong end of a sonic shock? It's not fucking fun, let me tell you. I was cut up pretty bad, we cut the job short and I got out of my costume and home in bed fast as I could.

Of all the days I come home late, Sweetie picks this one to wake up. He starts asking questions, you know? Where'd I get these bruises from, am I bleeding, why am I shaking, what's wrong? I tell him nothing, I was out with the girls, I'm still a little coked out. He doesn't believe me. I turn on the charm, hope to distract him like that, but after everything I'd been using of it at the job, only thing that happens is I pass right out. When I wake up the next morning, Sweetie's in the kitchen drinking his coffee. He won't stop fucking looking at me, like I'm some sort of criminal.

Sweetie's catching on too fast. I'll have to get rid of him.