Costumes Don't Work

It’s supposed to be a costume party, but mine is pretty lame. I was going for Elwood Blues, but I’m settling for Agent K of Men in Black or a simple portrayal of “the Man”, as these were the most common misconceptions. I guess I’m just not a Blues Brother without the hat, that damned fedora.
The apartment is small, and most of us are crammed into the tiny, box-shaped living room. The array of costumes is remarkable. I know all or most of these people, yet at first glance I’m in a room of strangers. The majority have claimed a seat on one of the couches, or drug a chair in from the adjoined room. I scored a good seat, a nice recliner with cushioned side-walls.
Amy Winehouse is here, a big goofy clown, Quail-man, a bunch of guidos, cats, pirates, some really weird looking kid in a beer can costume, Courtney Love, and the 1987 US men’s hockey team. The went all out. I, on the other hand, am a procrastinator to the highest degree and of course saved any type of costume-making for last minute.

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