“But you’ve been late every night this week.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve had a lot of work at the office. The Peterman contract, you know.”

“The Peterman contract? Then how did that make-up get on your collar?”


“And what’s that red stuff on your shirt?”

“I can explain.”

“You’ve been hanging out with KISS again!”

“Well, just for a little while.

“So the rumors are true?”

“I couldn’t help it. I was all set to leave work at 5:30, but Ace was waiting for me in the parking lot.”

“Ace! I should have known.”

“And he had some really neat firecrackers. M-80s.”

“He always was a troublemaker.”

“And then Peter showed up, and he and Ace and I ran around the neighborhood, bagging up dog-doodie and putting it on doorsteps.”

“Then I suppose you set it on fire, rang the doorbell and ran.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Just you three?”

“That’s how it started. Then Alanis Morissette and Kenny G showed up, and we went downtown and spray-painted stop signs.”

“What am I going to do with you? You say you’ll come straight from work, but you always end up with Elliott Smith, Orchestra Morphine or Tonic. You know those musicians are up to no good. They’ll only get you in trouble.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Sure. You said that last week. Then you and Neil Sedaka spent the next night tipping cows.”

“I know, but I will make it up to you. Promise.”

“Yeah, right. And I suppose you’re going to be late tomorrow. What’s it going to be? Dropping water balloons from the overpass? Putting potatoes in car exhaust pipes?”

“Aw, come on now, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? What could be worse than hanging out with musicians?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m hanging out with their agents.”