(Marie sits on her suitcase, center stage. Very proper clothing, buttons e.t.c. Nice hair, up, looks fresh.) Last night, I ran away. Mother has always been a pain, but last night was the final straw. She gave me a curfew! She said that I have been disrespecting her authority and that it was high time I learn some manners. I just absolutely could not stand it anymore. So I packed my suitcase, and I left. A van of musicians picked me up off the road this morning, and said that if my pretty face kept their van clean and their stomachs full, they would let me ride along. I don't know where they're going, but neither do they. They're just "in it for the open road". I'm still not sure what that means, but they're friendly and that's all that matters anymore.

(Marie stands center stage. No suitcase. Hair down. Guitar case in hand. This marks the beginning of Marie's addiction, although few signs of the strength the drug has on her at this point) I've been on the road with these guys for about a month. We've been all over creation, playing music and meeting new people--Marcus is even teaching me how to play guitar. The air's always a little thick around here from their "special lettuce". It used to be almost suffocating, but I'm used to it now. I've even tried it a few times. It's nice. It calms me down, takes the edge off. It's a nice break from the memories of home.

(Marie stands center stage, cigarette in hand. Slightly bedraggled, some hair out of place. Oversize coat.) It's been almost three months since I left home. Or, maybe it's four. It's not important anyways. **smokes** This van gets to be so cold sometimes. I go numb all over, even with all of our blankets. We stopped somewhere once, and when we stepped out of the van for our gig, we were all shivering someting fierce. One of the people watching got the whole crowd to offer blankets and winter coats. One of the blankets looked just like the one that used to be on my bed back home...we didn't take that one. **smokes**

(Marie stands center stage, a bit unsteady. Hair's a mess, clothes dishevled. Still a small cemblance of order. Almost completely gone to the drug now)
The band's been awful cranky lately, saying that the "food tastes weird" and I'm "using up all their lettuce". Well, what do they know. They just need to get on this level. Mellow out.

(Marie sits on the top step, same costume as before, suitcase next to her) They kicked me out last night. It's gotten warm enough to sleep on the ground, but they kept all my cigarettes. Those were my cigarettes, fair and square. They said that I have a problem? and that I need help? Well what do they kow? What do they know?

(Marie leans against the back wall, center stage. No order left. Hair's a mess, clothes hanging off one shoulder, coat on floor around her. She has a cup in hand, begging for money)
Spare change? Sir? I just need a little medecine. Sir? **fake cough** See? I'm sick and I need my medicine. Sir? Please? (Marie throws her cup across stage and puts her hands to her forehead) I just want to go home.

(Marie stands center stage, suitcase in hand. You can tell she has tried to make herself presentable. Hair's pulled back, loosely and uneven. Clothes are on, but rumpled. She's come home.)
Momma?