Santos: La da da da da... la da da da da... la da da da da... da da da...

The scene opens in Tony's basement apartment in Brighton, Massachusetts. Sticking with its typical look, the one lightbulb lighting the room dangles on the other side of the room, its glow barely resting on Tony's bare back as he sits on the other end of the room. Tony sits on a tree stump that he found uprooted and sitting on a porch a few blocks away. His elbows rest on a small, square steel table as he taps his knuckles against the surface, to the tune of Vanity Kills by Codeine Velvet Club.



After mumbling some of the ensuing words of the song that he clearly doesn't know, he continues...

Santos: It's getting late but I'll wait up to greet the dawn
Pour some Champagne and refrain from moving on
There's got to be more than this to our simple serenades
I'm waiting 'til the spotlight fades...

Tony bobs his head left and right, then forward, before going back in to a left and right bob, which finally turns in to his head just rolling around his neck like a joystick on a faulty base.

Santos: A case of vanity kills, they're all up for the thrills
But not the working, darling
Life's a roll of a dice but you'll pay the price
When that curtain falls...

Tony continues to bob his head as the song plays. A rumbling can be both heard and felt upstairs, as patrons in their early-20s fill up The Castlebar, the bar that happens to contain Tony in his basement. The rumbling above has swayed toward 80s hair band fare for the past two hours as girls not even a thought at the time Bon Jovi was making his first embarrassing attempts at credibility cram dollar bills in to the money sucking, electronic jukebox in the corner of the bar, blaring the likes of Livin' On a Prayer, You Give Love a Bad Name, and Born to be My Baby. Tony attempts to block that background noise as he enjoys the likes of obscurity coming from his portable music player.

Santos: There's got to be more than this to our simple serenades
I'm waiting 'til the spotlight fades...

Just then, the light flickers. Tony twirls to his left, backhanding the bottle of Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA, launching it across the room. The bottle soars through the air, eventually crashing against the wall to Tony's left. Without missing a beat, Tony continues his head bobbing, knuckle tapping action.

Santos: La da da da da... la da da da da... la da da da da... da da da...

The beat moves upward.

Santos: There's got to be something more than... something morrrrreeee than, THISSSSS!

The chorus comes in to play as Tony flails his arms outwards, knocking the other bottle of Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA... this one open... off of the table. Swaying side to side, Tony's world shifts like tectonic plates in the Pacific, with the ferocity of a typhoon. In his basement, he moves, not so much to the music around him, but the music in his head. A week after his first AA meeting, he's fallen slightly further downward. Sitting against his chair, his arms still outstretched, the scars on his back and triceps glisten ever so slightly against the faint light. Tony leans backwards against his chair, its hind legs propping up his 200+ pound frame as if he were Andre the Giant. Tony finally leans back a bit too heavily, the chair legs giving out.

The wooden back smacks against the concrete floor, its crack resonating throughout the basement, only rivaled by the smack of Tony's skull against that same floor...

Santos: La da ga ga ga... la da ga ga ga... la da ga ga ga... da ga da...

Tony smiles as he stares at the ceiling. His ears ring like a steel rod piercing through each eardrum. He continues to bob his head from side to side, his knees bending and extending, his arms flailing and contracting. Tony continues humming the same tune over and over again, completely disregarding the music actually playing in the background. Tony extends his left hand to his side, his fingers clenching in to a fist, then retracting, then clenching... with nothing to grasp. Tony looks to his left and sees the shattered beer bottle. His eyes widen. He looks to his right and notices the other shattered beer bottle, its contents flowing further and further away from him...

And his eyes widen.

Tony looks up at the ceiling, the dangling lightbulb not only dangling, not just twirling, but spinning around like a drunken dreidel. It teases Tony; with its bright, fluorescent light crafting a circle in the sky. Tony's pupils widen as they try to focus on this wonder. His face revolves around the bulb, his body still moving to the music. Then...

The light goes out. Blacked out like Tony Santos after a week-long bender. But Tony continues dancing....

Santos: A case of vanity kills, they're all up for the thrills
But not the working, darling
Life's a roll of a dice but you'll pay the price
When that curtain falls...

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion