Halls and common areas bustling with adventure seekers only weeks ago, are now somber and desolate.
The unforgiving drone of Fox News drowns out any chance of levity, casting its shadow of disease and distress over the common areas and infecting all that come within earshot.
Conversations have been pirated by fear and uncertainty, and although they continue to dot themselves generously with toilet paper punch lines- no one is really laughing- on the inside.
Meanwhile, I smile, apologize appropriately for the absence of our ordinarily amazing continental breakfast buffet, and pass out a meager selection of breakfast foods with all the necessary attention to detail I imagine was given to the rearranging of the deck chairs on the Titanic.
Nikki and Tommy, the self proclaimed Drug Scouts of America, made quite a handsome living ambassadoring gratuitous sex and violence under the guise of Glam Metal Gods in every country around the globe that would grant them a visa. Although it nearly killed Nikki twice, they both lived to tell.
Although never what you might call a loyal fan of their music, thinking it too ‘pop’ to qualify as real Heavy Metal, I will admit to being a strict adherent to the life style they promoted. Sex and Drugs and Rock n Roll. Sleazy. Slutty. Overmade-up. Underdressed. Youth Gone Wild.
Recently, they released a movie based on the best selling book, The Dirt. A supposedly accurate, tell all accounting of their lives on the road, showcasing their antics as nearly as their once drug addled minds could recall them. Love it or hate it, the world showed up to watch.
While the masses were watching Nikki and Tommy misbehave- I was watching the girls. And there it was. The truth about the part girls like me played in the drug induced carnal carnage that was the eighties music scene. We were props. Pretty props albeit, but props just the same.
So now not only do I have a plethora of memories that are in no way suitable to share at parties, but the knowledge that even if I were to write them down, the true heroes would always be the boys in the band. And me? A pretty, slutty afterthought.
This piece is written in 50 word increments. I am rather enjoying the confines of that style. The OLWG #28 supplied the three phrases that inspired the grim post-script. The three phrases were: