I'd been walking down the alleyway for a long time, not quite sure of where I was, but it wasn't like I had a place to be anyway.

I stepped into a shallow puddle, splattering my skirt with muddy water.

I was cold. And I was getting sicker.

Wrapping my arms around myself and shivering, I kept walking until the alley way opened up to another street.

There were some older men sitting by the side of the road, sharing a joint with each other. I lowered my eyes and walked past them quickly, trying not to attract attention to myself.

One of them looked up suddenly at my footsteps.

"Hi, Sweets," he said, with a weird smile on his face. "Wanna come over here?"

I ignored him, and walked faster.

"What'sa matter? Cat got your tongue?" the other one shouted, and a bunch of heads turned our way. They started walking towards me.

I began to run, pushing my way through the crowd, oblivious to the furious glares I got as I shoved by. I was about to cross the street when suddenly a car stopped in front of me. The driver rolled down the window.

"Mimi?"

It was my boss, Terry, who worked at the Cat Scratch Club. I realized I was supposed to be there right now.

"Terry, can I get in the car, these two creeps are following me," I pleaded, desperately.

"She's just the right flavor,' one of them wheezed as he approached us.

I looked at Terry, my eyes pleading with him.

Terry nodded. He stuck his head out the window to glare menacingly at them.

"FUCK OFF!" he shouted.

"Jeez Pop, we just wanted a night on the town?"

"Not tonight. Go sober up somewhere else."

For a moment it looked like they were going to challenge him, but Terry was a good foot taller than them, and they decided against it.

"Tease," one of them muttered under his breath. "C'mon, Kip."

And with that they walked away, stumbling into random people in their way.

"Thank you," I whispered, slipping into the front seat beside Terry.

"No problem," he answered. Then he frowned. "Mimi, what the hell happened to you?"

I realized I probably looked like hell. My make-up was running down my face in dark streaks, and my eyes were puffy and red from crying.

"You and Roger fight?"

".Sort of," I said, not in the mood to talk about it.

"Hell, it'll sort itself out. Hey, you're supposed to be working tonight. Want me to drive you?"

Work? Tonight? I could barely stand up straight, and I felt like shit. But then I heard myself murmuring, "Alright," and he shifted gears and turned us around.

I looked out the window, concentrating on not crying.

"You'll have to wash your face," I heard Terry say. "You've got mascara running down your cheeks. We can't have you dancing looking like that, can we?"

I nodded absent-mindedly. My head was pounding, and I felt very tired. Why had I said I'd work tonight? I couldn't, in my condition.

"Here we are," said Terry as we pulled up behind the club. "Go backstage and get dressed. I'll be out in front."

I got out of the car, and shakily and went through the backstage door.