Stan was shuffling around the dark, tree lined suburbia that used to be his neighbourhood, looking for a dark blue 193. Bebe's house.

He walked past every landmark, shook his head and tried to forget.

He was almost angry. He knew every stupid fucking family that lived in every one of these stupid fucking houses, and they didn't know him.

Not anymore.

He watched Kevin and Heidi's moms walk around him in their fur lined coats, and a concerned whisper sounded further and further away, following their huddling all the way down to the end of the empty street.


Gradually the dreadfully suburban silence faded out to a steady synth beat alongside chatting and every fifth beat or so, a scream. As soon as it peaked he knew he'd found the place.

Stan ducked into the gate and moved several people aside until he found someone who looked fairly sober.

He approached him, a boy who looked about fourteen. He had tousled blonde hair and a red solo cup in one hand.

His gaze shifted about nervously.

"Hey kid, do you know where Wendy is?"

The guy looked up at Stan and ignored him. Stan wasn't sure if he hadn't heard him, but it seemed unlikely since they were locking eyes.

Stan tapped the kid. "Hey kid? Wendy? Wendy Testaburger? Do you know her?"

"Stan?"


Stan paused. He realized two things:

1) 1. He was definitely correct about this kid being sober

2) 2. This was Butters!

"Hey, um, hi Butters.."

"Stan! How's it going!"

Butters got up on his toes to put his arm around Stan.

Stan smiled.

"You're kind of nursing that beer."

Butters looked down as his full cup and chuckled halfheartedly.

"Oh yeah, I'm ah, not much for alcohol, but this uh, nice guy offered me one, and aha, who am I to say no?"

Stan sighed internally with relief.

"Maybe you should pour that drink out then."

Butters nodded. His wide eyes didn't move an inch, they stared straight ahead with the uttermost faith in Stan.


"So, um, Wendy? Do you know where I can find her?"

"Oh, Wendy! She's right over there."

Stan looked in the direction of Butter's finger and saw a girl with straight black hair, slumped sideways against the front porch's wall.

He waved back at Butters while he approached her. He sat beside the girl and whispered her name.

"Hi, Stan."

"Hi, Wendy.."

"What's wrong?"

"I meant to be driving..,"

Stan paused. It was very apparent what had happened here.


"Did you drive anyone?"

"Not after the first drink.."

Wendy cradled her head in her hands and sobbed.

Stan picked her up and walked her down the road.

They were silent. They couldn't see a thing but the dim porch lights and every time a car drove by, he could see Wendy's eyes glistening as she looked ahead. He walked her up to a bench and sat down.


"Wendy, what happened?"

"It's a Tuesday, Stan, what are we even celebrating?"

She sniffled.

"I know…all the kids and the housewives and the fathers who work nine to five jobs...they know they're going to die here."

Stan listened.

"So the kids, they get it started early. They know, every bottle drained, and every fucking joint and line…one step closer to death. They want to die slowly, but they want to feel absolutely nothing at the end. They don't want to have enough time or energy to acknowledge the fact…they're not ever going to do something with their lives."

"They're going to die here, without ever knowing what true happiness feels like. So they may as well compensate by never feeling true sadness. Just numb. Ev-er-ybody wants to feel numb."


Stan had accompanied enough drunk girls to know exactly what this meant:

It meant she was drunk off her ass and if he ever mentioned this, this revelation while she was sober, she'd laugh.

But there was something real about her drunken ramblings. He'd never heard anything like that before.

Wendy wiped her eyes.


"I can't be like that, Stan. I need to get out of here."

She cradled her head again and cried.

Stan wrapped his arms around her.

"Wendy, Wendy…you're going to get out of here. You are too strong not to make it out of this town. Where do you wanna go to college?"

Wendy sobbed.

"Columbia. Columbia University."

"That's in New York. You're going to be so far away…"

"I've got two years..!"

"Think about that, Wendy…it's not as long as it sounds when you're drunk."

Wendy buried her head in his arms and Stan felt her breathing slow. She was falling asleep. He stroked her hair and whispered…he hoped she'd remember his voice.

"Two more years, Wendy…two years."