Daria quickly moves out of the doorway to Alices bedroom as a shoe comes sailing by, nearly taking out her knees in its trip. She looks down at Alice who kneels at her closet, sorting through the sea of shoes in the bottom. A few more poor soles make the trip across her shoulder and land in the ever-growing heap next to the bed.

Alice.
Mmm-hmm?
When are we leaving?
When everyone else gets here. We want to arrive together.
Okay. Wheres Dana?
She said shed be here at 10.
That was thirty minutes ago.

Alice shrugs. The concept of time seems to be something that no one cares about tonight. Daria, on the other hand, is greatly anticipating her first night at Milk. Alice has hyped it up as THE place to be on a Friday night in LA.

And whats your holdup?
I need shoes.

Daria bends to pick up the one that had only moments ago been some sort of air missile.

What about this one?

Alice looks back and up, blowing hair from her face.

No. It needs to be black, strappy, 4-6 inches on the heel.
Jesus Christ, were going to be here all night, Alice.

Alice turns back to the closet, grumbling ***** several times. Daria starts back for the living room, hoping she can find something good on television for the next half hour that its going to take for everyone to get dressed, arrive at Alices, and get started just to go to this club.

Hey, can you go pick up Shane for me? Somethings happened to her truck and she needs a ride, Alice yells from the bedroom.

Darias eyebrows rise, surprised, and a little off-put. Shes only been to Shanes place a few times with Alice and that was in the daytime. Shes skeptical of her own ability to find her way back, but decides its at least one way to pass the time and burn off this nervous energy.

Sure, she yells back and grabs the keys.

~~~~~~~~

As Daria pulls up to the sidewalk in front of Shanes house, she can see the truck. Car trouble, indeed. The front end of Shanes blue pickup is smashed in something terrible, the front window spider-webbed like crackled glass. The damage isnt so much violent as it is odd. With injuries like that, Daria would have expected the entire front end to be smushed in and someone to have made at least a brief trip to the hospital – but there is Shane, standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette and talking on her cell phone. She is dressed amazingly casual for a night of clubbing – blue jeans that are torn in all the right places, a black t-shirt, and a deep burgundy blazer. She wears low-cut blue converse to complete the laid-back affair.