"September twenty-first, ten PM, Eastern Standard Time... Only four days in, and already, patience is wearing a little thin. I swear, if Roger sings "ninety-nine bottles" again, I'm going to have to kill him. I've decided to keep a video journal of our trip, from start to...finish. Pan across the cheapest hotel room we could find in the greater D.C. area. There's Collins at the desk, counting our money. Close on Roger. Goodnight, Roger..." At that, Roger opened an eye, glared at Mark, and closed it again. "Maybe now isn't the best time to film. Until morning." Mark switched the camera off, and set it on the floor, by his coat, which now served as a bed, due to the hotel's shortage of roll-away cots.
Mimi came in from the hallway holding a bucket of ice.
"This place is the best! Free ice!" She ate a handful of it, then offered it to Mark. "Want some?"
"Nah...thanks. I can't stand the sound of people eating ice. It's like nails on a chalkboard or something."
"You're weird, Mark," she observed, and sat down next to Roger on the bed. Mark took a notebook out of his coat pocket and quietly flipped through it, occasionally making little tally marks. "What're you doing now?"
"Counting all the license plates I spotted today."
"You mean, you're actually participating in that stupid competition?"
"Yeah... I'm up to twenty-three," he announced, quite proudly.
"Leave it to guys to come up with something like...counting license plates."
She rolled her eyes and turned off the light. "Night, Mark. Collins."
When he was sure they were asleep, Mark turned his camera back on, this time pointing it towards his own face.
"Close on Mark... who happens to like stupid license plate games. For the record, I have my doubts about this trip. I'm glad for Roger's sake that we're not all cooped up in the loft anymore. And while the 'road trip' thing is a nice concept, in theory, how are we going to survive? I mean, Collins can only rewire so many ATMs... And that money's gonna have to pay for food, hotels, AZT, and possibly hospital bills. What have we gotten ourselves into? Note to self: tape over this part."
In the morning, Mark woke up around noon. Roger was up, rapidly changing channels on the hotel TV; Mimi was still sleeping soundly, and Collins had gone out- presumably to find food. Mark yawned.
"I call first shower!" With that, he hopped up from the floor and barricaded himself in the bathroom before anyone could say otherwise. Roger continued to channel surf, before finally settling on some obscure news station he'd never heard of. The newscaster spoke in a monotonous, rambling fashion, which didn't exactly work for any of the stories he was covering. Roger shook his head.
"What is this shit?" He rose and went to the window, throwing back the curtains. The city down below was already awake and full of life and he wanted to be there in the middle of it all...
He hurriedly scrawled a note to Mimi and Mark, telling them to meet him at a deli a few blocks away from the hotel. He grabbed his leather jacket, and headed out the door.
The deli was packed with people on their lunch breaks, clutching briefcases and looking agitated. Roger looked all around for a table, and found Collins sitting at his own little table near the back. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all. Pull up a chair."
Back in the hotel room, Mimi slowly opened her eyes, and glanced around the room. She heard water running, which meant that someone was, at least, still here. A note on the bedside table caught her attention. Scrawled in Roger's chicken scratch, she could just barely pick out the words 'meet me at the deli.'
"Roger needs to learn how to write," she mused, as she got out of bed, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and grabbed one of Roger's old sweatshirts. She waited a few minutes before heading down to the deli, where she found Roger and Collins.
When Mark found the same hastily scribbled note, about twenty minutes later, he too joined them at the deli. As he walked through the door, a bell rang overhead, signaling that another customer had entered.
"Wow, that's cool..."
"Mark, over here!" Collins called to the distracted filmmaker, who in turn, came to sit with them. "What do you want to eat?"
"Bagel, I guess. What do you guys say we hit some museums today?"
After breakfast, they walked to the National Gallery of Art. Collins led the way to one of the modern art floors. He pointed at a mobile, suspended several stories above the main level.
"Isn't this cool?"
"Collins, it's pieces of metal hanging from the ceiling. I could do that," announced an already bored Roger.
"I'd really like to see that, Roge."
"Yeah... I'd cut different random shapes out of metal, and, you know, tie them together, and hang 'em from the ceiling. I'd have a guitar shape, and a square, and a rectangle, and maybe a few triangles... Then I'd call it modern art, and sell it for about a hundred times what I paid for the metal to begin with."
"Roger Davis, yours is truly a mind unlike any other. And I mean that..."
"Thanks, Collins. I'm gonna take that as a compliment..."
Mimi came in from the hallway holding a bucket of ice.
"This place is the best! Free ice!" She ate a handful of it, then offered it to Mark. "Want some?"
"Nah...thanks. I can't stand the sound of people eating ice. It's like nails on a chalkboard or something."
"You're weird, Mark," she observed, and sat down next to Roger on the bed. Mark took a notebook out of his coat pocket and quietly flipped through it, occasionally making little tally marks. "What're you doing now?"
"Counting all the license plates I spotted today."
"You mean, you're actually participating in that stupid competition?"
"Yeah... I'm up to twenty-three," he announced, quite proudly.
"Leave it to guys to come up with something like...counting license plates."
She rolled her eyes and turned off the light. "Night, Mark. Collins."
When he was sure they were asleep, Mark turned his camera back on, this time pointing it towards his own face.
"Close on Mark... who happens to like stupid license plate games. For the record, I have my doubts about this trip. I'm glad for Roger's sake that we're not all cooped up in the loft anymore. And while the 'road trip' thing is a nice concept, in theory, how are we going to survive? I mean, Collins can only rewire so many ATMs... And that money's gonna have to pay for food, hotels, AZT, and possibly hospital bills. What have we gotten ourselves into? Note to self: tape over this part."
In the morning, Mark woke up around noon. Roger was up, rapidly changing channels on the hotel TV; Mimi was still sleeping soundly, and Collins had gone out- presumably to find food. Mark yawned.
"I call first shower!" With that, he hopped up from the floor and barricaded himself in the bathroom before anyone could say otherwise. Roger continued to channel surf, before finally settling on some obscure news station he'd never heard of. The newscaster spoke in a monotonous, rambling fashion, which didn't exactly work for any of the stories he was covering. Roger shook his head.
"What is this shit?" He rose and went to the window, throwing back the curtains. The city down below was already awake and full of life and he wanted to be there in the middle of it all...
He hurriedly scrawled a note to Mimi and Mark, telling them to meet him at a deli a few blocks away from the hotel. He grabbed his leather jacket, and headed out the door.
The deli was packed with people on their lunch breaks, clutching briefcases and looking agitated. Roger looked all around for a table, and found Collins sitting at his own little table near the back. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all. Pull up a chair."
Back in the hotel room, Mimi slowly opened her eyes, and glanced around the room. She heard water running, which meant that someone was, at least, still here. A note on the bedside table caught her attention. Scrawled in Roger's chicken scratch, she could just barely pick out the words 'meet me at the deli.'
"Roger needs to learn how to write," she mused, as she got out of bed, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and grabbed one of Roger's old sweatshirts. She waited a few minutes before heading down to the deli, where she found Roger and Collins.
When Mark found the same hastily scribbled note, about twenty minutes later, he too joined them at the deli. As he walked through the door, a bell rang overhead, signaling that another customer had entered.
"Wow, that's cool..."
"Mark, over here!" Collins called to the distracted filmmaker, who in turn, came to sit with them. "What do you want to eat?"
"Bagel, I guess. What do you guys say we hit some museums today?"
After breakfast, they walked to the National Gallery of Art. Collins led the way to one of the modern art floors. He pointed at a mobile, suspended several stories above the main level.
"Isn't this cool?"
"Collins, it's pieces of metal hanging from the ceiling. I could do that," announced an already bored Roger.
"I'd really like to see that, Roge."
"Yeah... I'd cut different random shapes out of metal, and, you know, tie them together, and hang 'em from the ceiling. I'd have a guitar shape, and a square, and a rectangle, and maybe a few triangles... Then I'd call it modern art, and sell it for about a hundred times what I paid for the metal to begin with."
"Roger Davis, yours is truly a mind unlike any other. And I mean that..."
"Thanks, Collins. I'm gonna take that as a compliment..."