‘Henry?’ She whispered. He raised his head. His face was stained with mud, and dirt, and he had a small cut on his chin. His eyes saw nothing but ...he fire, and tears streamed down his face. He was a mere shadow of his arrogant self. ‘Marilyn, is that you?’ He whispered. She could smell the mix of bile and alcohol on his system, as well as the pungent smell of gasoline, presumably from his pants. ‘I’m here Henry, it’s going to be all right,’ She said. ‘No! No, it’s not, Marilyn. The restaurant. The place was the size of a ballroom, and actually, it really did have a dance floor right in the middle. Everywhere you looked, it was as though someone took all the fancy furniture from every era of humanity and mashed them all together.There were beanbag chairs of various sizes piled next to what seemed like a Victorian-era sofa, and a gaudy 60s style chair beside a skeeball table. On the walls were paintings, some fancy, some basic, some were even just those cheesy motivational posters. On. More

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