I guess boys
don't make passes at girls who wear glasses! They just invite them as "dates" to Broadway shows. Wise up, Deborah! Pete doesn't have any exam to study for! He's making a bee-line straight for the nearest leather bar... where he
will be "tested" by a guy named "Bone-Breaker."
(Meanwhile, an unemployed Dan Didio is forced to peddle his comic book ideas on the streets.)
Poor Deborah is so busy marinating in her own self-pity that she doesn't even notice who's sitting just across the aisle from her. No, it's not Estelle Parsons of "Roseanne" fame. It's the Spirit of Future Deborah Whitman! Oh, if only Deborah would take heed of this crocheted-hatted omen before it's too late! Check it out, Deborah... this is
you in twenty years: your hair prematurely gray and styled in the classic "I don't give a shit anymore" tomboy cut favored by nihilistic grannies, your "signature" white scarf tattered and mended so many times it's barely long enough to qualify as a choker, your Harvest Gold wardrobe darkened by age and windblown grave soil into a dull orange, a teeny flowered hat and a scruffy fur collar the only signifiers of your gender, and riding a bus for all eternity. Sure, you won't need glasses anymore, but that's only because you'll be
blind from reading Harlequin romances all day long.
Get off the bus, Deborah! Get off and
live!
