The Gaslight

The Gaslight was extra packed. Angelica’s dark hair, usually piled atop her head, loosely framed her heart-shaped face.  “Cheers, Angelica!” toasted her friends.  It was tough, but she passed the bar on the first try.

Everyone was there: Eve, Frances, Frank, Joe, Professor Kendall, Sissy.  Everyone, that is, except Lenny.  He did not pass.  He said he had to work late, but deep inside she knew he was home sulking.

She gulped a shot, then another. Not today, boyfriend, she said to herself.  Today you don’t rain on my parade.  Her eyes glistened, a cross between alcohol and unshed tears.

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