Sister Liz, Reader and Advisor, 1644 N. Damen: The strangest thing happened to Filberta. Most of her life she had been a reporter with a brilliant future in nightlife writing. She would stand on the sidelines interpreting the complex behavior of the clubgoers, interested yet detached–the mark of a professional! Then one day, without warning, Filberta became one of them–living only for pleasure every night of the week. She sold her computer and began wearing a small leopard skin around her hips, a rag tied on top. She had affairs with everyone–the VIP hosts, the DJs, the coat-check people, the pizza-truck driver. She had to change her name to Numbnose. She began skipping meals. On more than one occasion her friend Stevie found her sprawled unconscious on a nightclub floor. When he lifted her head–she was choking from the smoke machine–she rasped, “I’ve turned into a party girl. There’s no turning back.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
“No!” Filberta said. “I need three wishes–health, love, and fame.”
Filberta’s eyelids grew heavy.
Filberta went home and called Stevie. “That was a dumb idea. I’ve just blown $25.” She screamed at Stevie for a long time then suddenly she saw a philodendron in the distance. She felt rice falling on her nose and the trembling of seal blubber, which was followed by a violent shaking as if from ague. Then all was quiet.
“Will you finish the book on how Marcie lost her headband?”
