Guy, being the multi-talented marvel that he was, had somehow managed to get the fireworks to launch themselves so that he could sit in with the band. Probably by computer, but seeing as how most normal people didn't go walking around with pyrotechnics programs on their laptops, no one could really be sure. The point is little kids were running around in amazement, and adults were ooh-ing and ah-ing as pattern after pattern and color after color exploded amongst the stars above them.

Franky and Sam were sitting near the dance floor, talking, laughing, and watching the people good enough, drunk enough, or stupid enough to dance. Actually, Franky was doing the talking and laughing; Sam was fixated on Rebecca the French Horn Hooker. Franky, eventually, took notice.

"Why don't you go ask her t'dance, Sam? I think they're playing a slow song next."

Sam pushed his glasses up his nose and fiddled with the inhaler in his pocket. "No...no, I can't. I don't wanna. It's too soon. I haven't even hardly talked to her...I...ah, God!" Sam took a huge draw off his inhaler as the band began to play "Let's Get It On", and he saw Rebecca striding purposefully toward him.

"Hey."

"H-h-hey."

"Wanna dance?"

###

"This one?" Perry called from the back of Guy's station wagon.

"No, dumb ass. The big one." Mark peered around the side of the car to make sure no one was watching. They weren't.

"Are you sure that's a Roman candle?"

"Yeah, positive. Here, get all of 'um."

Perry came out of the station wagon with a whole armful of Roman candles. "Now what?"

"Stick'em in the ground."

"But we're on concrete."

"I...uh...well, we'll just light 'em and see what happens. Just throw 'em on the ground here."

Perry did as he was instructed, and Mark pulled a lighter out of his pocket. "Right, I'll light 'em, and when I say so, run. Ready?" Perry nodded, and Mark put the lighter to each candle. Much to Mark and Perry's dismay, the rockets started to spin madly in circles, shooting sparks in ever direction. "RUN!" Mark and Perry dashed back towards the party as the candles started to fly in all directions. A few chose the path of straight through the party.

Screaming shook the apartment complex as rockets zoomed around people's ankles. One by one, they shot up into the air, bursting into oblivion in a shower of multicolored sparks. The crowed forgot their terror and cheered as loud as they had screamed.

"I think we both deserve a congratulations, don't you think, Perry?"

"I think I agree, Mark."

"Well, I don't."

Mark and Perry stood stock still as a pair of large, menacing hands grabbed them forcefully by the hoods of their sweatshirts. They risked a looked backwards at their captor. Guy was towering above them, smirking in fiendish delight. "I think I've got a job for you two."

###

"Speech! Speech!"

The band had stopped playing now, and Bryce stood atop 4 overturned kegs and a couple of planks, ready to deliver his birthday speech. The party-goers had brought lawn chairs, the kind with footrests; Bryce's speeches were notoriously long-winded.

"My dear Bacons and Biffars!"

There was a huge deal of cheering.

"Tonkses and Brookses!"

Another huge round of cheering, almost as large as the last.

"Geesemans!"

"Eh!"

"Cheesemans!"

"Eh!"

"Hoocks and and Ballards!"

A hearty round of cheering.

"Browers...and Plowmans!"

"PlowMEN!" A tall, thin man with a cigar stuck in his moth corrected.

"Bah, whatever.

"Today is my twenty-fifth birthday!"

"Happy birthday, by the way, Franky," Sam whispered, lip prints dotted randomly over his face.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" roared the crowd.

Bryce's cheerful, half-drunk tone softened a bit. "Alas, twenty-five years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable band people."

The party-goers nodded and cheered. They agreed.

Bryce continued. "I'd rather not say confusing things because I know none of you will get it because you're not nearly as smart as me, and I don't want this party to end on a sour note. That being said..." Bryce's voice softened even more, and an awkward silence settled over the scene. Franky's face fell; he half-knew what was coming. Guy sat further on the edge of his chair, nervously pumping the valves on the horn. "I-I...um...have things to do..." Bryce fiddled with something in his pocket. 'This has been a long time coming,' he mumbled to himself.

The whole lot of people were now squirming to the edges of their seats, waiting for Bryce to spit out what he was going to say. The bass player plucked a tune to fit the mood until Guy smacked him.

"I regret to announce," he finally said loudly, "this is the end. I'm going now." He looked Franky in the eye wiltingly. "Goodbye." And, followed by a huge gasp from the crowd, he vanished.