"Roadkill, if they're not careful."

I laugh helplessly, almost crashing into the group of punk-goths gathered around the sign for "Maid in Manhattan." I over hear one of them remarking on how good JLo looks these days, and nearly fall over again, until Connie comes and collects me, pulling me back into line just as the ticket booth opens again. Still chuckling, we wave our SuperSaver (read="free") passes for the theater and make our way inside. "Have you memorized the lines yet?"

"Oh, please, have I memorized the lines, yet. 'You're late. You look terrible.' Hasn't everyone?" I nod back at the wraiths. "Then there's your basic screeching, I think they've got that covered. I just hope they don't turn it into a Rocky Horror audience participation thing."

I wince. "Because now you've made me imagine Saruman in a corset and garters, and my mind could really have done with *not* going there."

My goodness, doesn't time fly when you're playing with your Gigolo-Joe-next-door-neighbour? Now that I've plugged him in to recharge I'm struck by the fact that months seem to have passed - which is crazy, obviously. Unless - oh, unless that chronomorphic field generator down the hall is on the fritz again.

Rats.

Think I'll take a shower and then go and get something to eat. I wonder what year it is. Hey! Maybe The Two Towers is out now! Heck, if I'm really lucky both TTT and Return of the King might be out!

bouncebouncebounce

"Aragorn!" "Sam!" "Frodo!!! (I'll kill him.)" "Legolas!" "Aragorn!"

"Gollum!" "Ungh."

The lineup for TTT is long, but I don't care. It's a beautiful night, and my sweetie has agreed to come to Sang Sacre for the whole week. We watch as a group of Nazgul are utterly subdued by offers of junk food. Posers. I make a mental note to field test the project under rushing water conditions.

"You know," I say, "I think there's a real market here, but I just don't know whom to approach.

"Don't worry. You'll find someone. You don't have to worry about it now anyway. Wait until after the holidays."

Closer to the door there's a busker who offers to "guess our aura" for a dollar. I throw a pair of singles.. "Pink!" he shouts. "Am I right? And you're green, sir!"

I nod politely and head into the theatre.

The vintage black Rolls-Royce pulls up to the front of the theater and I can tell that my move to this place was ill-timed. Oh well, I thought. At least I have on my "Never been denied a ticket, yet" ensemble on.

Miggie, my driver, gets out of the driver's side and comes around to my door. I was sitting at the opposite window and skooching over caused friction between the pleather of my trench coat and the leather of the seat My leg is exposed right up to the hip. I am glad that one of the theater employees is watching me. Gaping, really. With his jaw down to the dirty concrete. I catch his eye after it grazes the tops of my stockings and the garter belt and I can tell getting in will be no problem.

I fully emerge from the car and stretch myself. The windows in front of me are back-covered with posters and I am able to see my full reflection and appreciate the usher's reaction. Ankle length pleather trench that has been tailored to my every curve. Black satin corset that heightens my bosom and cinches my waist. Low slung black satin hot pants,the ever-present black stocking and garters. Topped off with my ankle strapped, 4" black leather pumps. I button the diamond encrusted button below my breasts and step up to the window. The cashier is female and speechless.

"One ticket please."

"Mommy! Mommy! That woman has breats!"

"Shhh, Tom. It's just a typo. Don't point."