Stanley Greene, Pa Pa Jiang’s Chinese Restaurant, New York City, Day 0

“Stan… Stan… Hey, Stan… Up! God, Stan!” Stan’s fading in and out of consciousness was arrested by his childhood friend and now partner, Marie, giving him a good hard slap in the face, “Come on, get up, you’re too young to pull the alcoholic cop, Stan. I’m here to take you home.”

“What’re you doing here Marie? I don’t want to go home, I want to drink.” Stan slurred.

“I know, that’s why I’m here, the old man is closing down now, so I’m here to pick you up. He gave me a call.” She replied, muscling him out of the chair.

“Oh, really?” Stan asked, trying to do his best to land on his face, only to be held up by Marie, “What a nice guy, I should t-urp!” he was interrupted by a sudden rush of vomit.

“Really, Stan? Don’t worry about it, I already left him a big tip.” She replied, continuing to half-carry half-drag him out the front door, “Sorry about the floor, old man Jiang!”

As they were leaving the Chinese restaurant with a drinks menu too good for its drab appearance, Stan thought he heard the old man respond, but couldn’t understand him. “Thanks, Marie,” he said in a moment of clarity, “you put up with a lot.”

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“Yeah, I do.” She grunted, leaning him against the car and looking for her keys, while he slid to the ground and rested his head against the side of the car, “Now let’s get you home.”

“I don’t fucking want to go home!” Stan exclaimed, beating his fist powerlessly against the car door, “Reminds me too much of Betty.”

“Is that what this is about Stan, Betty? She just went to her mother’s for a few days, she’ll be back, you know she loves you,” Marie reassured him.

“No, she doesn’t. Betty doesn’t fucking love me at all!” He yelled into the night, only to get distracted by a momentary glimmer out of the corner of his eye, “What was that?” he asked.

“What?” Marie asked, concerned, stopping to turn and look at him.

“Over there,” Stan said, waving in the vicinity of the nearby alley, “the alley sparkled, the alley never sparkles, I mean, sure, it smells like half of New York died down there, but it doesn’t ever sparkle…” he went on while Marie got back to finding her keys.

“God, Stan, you’re seeing things,” Marie answered, exasperated, finding the key and opening the passenger door, “Come on, just a little more and then you’ll be home. Betty will be back soon, then everything will be better, I promise.”

“The papers arrived today.” Stan told her, no emotion in his voice.

“Papers?” Marie asked as she snapped his seat belt on and went to close the passenger door.

“The divorce papers.” Stan responded.

“Fuck,” Marie swore, slamming the door shut in surprise, before going around the car to the driver’s seat, “I’ll take you to my place then, does that make you feel any better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Stan said, drunkenly holding back the tears as the pulled out into the late night traffic.