"Bring it!"

  "Yah know, I don't even know if I can find the place again."  Three chairs blocking the door.  "And you're just a musician how do you suppose you're going to fix this?" 

  "First of all," a tall, skinny sofa table behind the chairs, "I'm not (i)just a musician(i).  I'm also an (i)activist(i)." 

  "Oh great!  I'm (i)sure(i) that'll help." 

  Bare feet on the chairs in the door crack.  "Who else is in there?" 

  "None of your BI." 

  "Give them this one." From a folder of hand drawn on papers.  

  "And if you can get back in, find this guy, and give him these." A business card and pages of story.  "Can I read it?" 

  "I wouldn't." 

  On the knee wall was the champagne bottle hacked at with a pocket knife, next to the bottle, missing the cork, but full. 

  Painter's tape covered all the names and buzzers.  A ball of yarn and clothespins hung out the window.  The hand drawn sign was attached with clothespin and pulley'd up. 

        THIS IS NOT A VIDEOGAME 

  A turn to leave. 

  A cab hailing whistle. 

  A head in a towel, the (i)wait, wait(i) finger held up. 

  A piece of paper coming down on the yarn, a half-eaten banana as a weight.  Blue ink. 

        NO SHIT 

  Another turn to leave.  Another whistle.  Another note. 

        Where is she?  

  A ripping off of tape.  (i)Buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzx(i).  "Like I'd tell you." 

  "Like hell you won't if I let you in." 

  "You gonna rip my fingernails off?" 

  Door opening.  Not the towel headed person.  "You better make this quick.  We're grooming them."