"So, what do you do, *Apu*?" she said to him, before he could say anything. "Oh, I'm retired, Mimi," he said. "Mimi?" she said. "Why not? It's as good a name as any." "Her name is --" Link started to say, but she cut him off. "Mimi is as good a name as any. I'm unemployed. Krishna's a bartender." "Are you looking for work?" She smirked. "Sure. Whatcha got?" "What can you do?" "I've got three-quarters of a degree in environmental studies, one year of kinesiology, and a half-written one-act play. Oh, and student debt until the year 3000." "A play!" he said, slapping his thighs. "You should finish it. I'm a writer, too, you know." "I thought you had a clothing shop." "I did. And a bookshop, and a collectibles shop, and an antique shop. Not all at the same time, you understand. But now I'm writing. Going to write a story, then I imagine I'll open another shop. But I'm more interested in *you*, Mimi, and your play. Why half-finished?" She shrugged and combed her hair back with her fingers. Her hair was brown and thick and curly, down to her shoulders. Alan adored curly hair. He'd had a clerk at the comics shop with curly hair just like hers, an earnest and bright young thing who drew her own comics in the back room on her breaks, using the receiving table as a drawing board. She'd never made much of a go of it as an artist, but she did end up publishing a popular annual anthology of underground comics that had captured the interest of the *New Yorker* the year before. "I just ran out of inspiration," Mimi said, tugging at her hair. "Well, there you are. Time to get inspired again. Stop by any time and we'll talk about it, all right?" "If I get back to it, you'll be the first to know." "Tremendous!" he said. "I just know it'll be fantastic. Now, who plays the guitar?" "Krishna," Link said. "I noodle a bit, but he's really good." "He sure is," Alan said. "He was in fine form last night, about three a.m.!" He chuckled pointedly. There was an awkward silence. Alan slurped down his second coffee. "Whoops!" he said. "I believe I need to impose on you for the use of your facilities?" "What?" Natalie and Link said simultaneously. "He wants the toilet," Mimi said. "Up the stairs, second door on the right. Jiggle the handle after you flush." The bathroom was crowded with too many towels and too many toothbrushes. The sink was powdered with blusher and marked with lipstick and mascara residue. It made Alan feel at home. He liked young people. Liked their energy, their resentment, and their enthusiasm. Didn't like their guitar-playing at three a.m.; but he'd sort that out soon enough. He washed his hands and carefully rinsed the long curly hairs from the bar before replacing it in its dish, then returned to the living room. "Abel," Mimi said, "sorry if the guitar kept you up last night." "No sweat," Alan said. "It must be hard to find time to practice when you work nights."