The group was apart. Ruined. Destroyed actually. Angel was gone.

Mimi was still on the streets. Roger got tired of life here again and moved away…only for me to get a phone call from a police officer in Florida saying that Roger had died from the cause of overdosing on heroin, opioids and antidepressants. Sure I was sad, wrecked even for the loss of my best friend. But I had to get over it, eventually.

Collins eventually got fired from NYU and was constantly in an angry or depressive drunken state, and hasn't had the initiative to look for work, much less be sober for no longer than an hour. Honestly, he was on a pitiful, downward spiral, out of control.

Maureen and Joanne…what a wreck those two ended up to be. Maureen became bitchy after all her publicity from her last worthless protest. She started to ignore all of us. She went into bigger things, Broadway. Whoop-de-doo. She made it into Wicked. After the tour was over, she proclaimed to all of us that she didn't want to hang out with broke lowlifes, and moved to California to be an actress.

I think that's what started Collins going Coo coo for Cocoa puffs, because after that brain blowing confession, and the overly harsh tell off he got from Maureen, who was supposed to be his best friend mind you, he just started drinking like there was no tomorrow. Soon on the path that he's going, I wouldn't be surprised.

Anyways, back to Maureen. I 'm getting to the good part. Well after basically she told us we were basically shit under her shoe, she moved, Joanne the honeybear in tow. Well things didn't go as planned. Apparently fame has a different meaning in California than in New York.

Maureen is known as Maureen "Honeybear" Johnson, a bisexual, very slutty pornstar. But being how she is, or was back then when we were friends, it was probably a preferred career choice for her anyways. Joanne just went along with it. Apparently after a while she just lost that gun-ho 'nobody gonna touch my girlfriend' attitude, because Maureen must be making a video every day.

If I sound, mad, cynical, sarcastic, and plainly lack pity anymore, it's probably because its true.

I'm still single, though I don't care about that anymore, probably just die alone anyways. I had bigger things to worry about: me.

Plates and glass crashed inside the loft inside behind me, as Collins continued his drunken tirade in the kitchen, as I stood out on the fire escape, smoking a cigarette, letting the air flow through my dyed black hair.

A lot had changed in the four years that Angel died, Roger following her in only two years time. I wasn't the short, selfless, pale strawberry blonde filmmaker trying to make everyone's life easier while I made mine a living hell.

Sure, I was still short and pale, but I just gave up on filmmaking altogether, realizing that all the scripts and movies and little shorts that I made were absolute crap, except one. Proof Positive. I made sure that was one that was far from Collins' grasp.

I dyed my hair black, wanting no relation to the scrawny kid in the film. I looked at the darkening sky, seeming to fit my mood. I take a slow drag from the dying cigarette.

I exhale. This was my life,our lives, and honestly, I don't know where it went wrong.