"God bless America! What a mess." She stepped gingerly among cigarette buts and crumbled potato chips. In the door between the living room and the kitchen a pyramid of beer cans barred the way. "No more rye," she remembered, stepping over the tower of cans.

The sink displayed an assortment of dirty dishes, a soggy towel was flung over the empty drainer. The remains of sandwiches were strewn over the table and crumbs were legion on the chairs, the floor, the window sill. This was too much for Donnie's precarious sobriety. She escaped into the living room, turning on the radio as she paused by the window to get acquainted with the weather. Snow drifted slowly from a cottony grey sky. How beautiful it was! So much like homeWhoops. Her thoughts skidded away, reaching for blankness.

"It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious-" She jumped for the radio, cutting it off in mid-carol. She looked out into the snow.

Victoria. Red cheeks, black eyes under an October sky. Victoria. Running breathless through the crackling leaves. Victoria. Perched on a fallen log watching a squirrel scamper up a tree. Victoria. Only a kiss away. Vic-

"It's gonna be a wet Christmas," she said to the air. "Drink your bonus. That's what I always say." She threw on a raincoat and disappeared out the door.

Several hours later a rye fog had settled over the flat. Donnie sat tailor fashion on the rug, a brilliant red ball in one hand, a few strands of tinsel in the other. The poor tree looked like a surrealistic nightmare. With a sharp motion of her. arm, Donnie threw the red ball toward the tree. It ricocheted from a branch and, striking the edge of the table, splintered into a thousand fragments on the rug.

"Oh oh," said Donnie with a lopsided grin, "threw the wrong one." She tottered to her feet and advancing crunchily over the slivers of glass, tenderly laid the tinsel along one green branch.

"Donna?" A soft voice came from the open doorway.

Donnie turned slowly, planting her feet carefully as she moved. A brown-eyed girl stood watching, snow glistening on her wavy brown hair.

"Who're you?" Donnie asked belligerently. "Don't tell me," she said suddenly, going erratically over to the girl.

She stood her ground as Donnie peered into her face. "You work in payroll." Donnie's jovial manner changed. "Whaddya want? Go 'way." She turned with exaggerated dignity and made her way back to the tree.

"Donna." The girl came into the room, faint trouble in her eyes.

"Name is Donnie. Now get out." Donnie fiddled with the tree, her back to the hesitating girl.

"Donnie. I came because I knew you needed help. I need it too. Please. Let me talk to you."

"Help? Listen, Snip-" Donnie sat down on the rug and glowered at her.

She took her wet coat off and sat on the edge of the couch. "Donnie, listen to me. I wondered about you, and I was right. You're alone, 300 miles from home, and it's Christmastime." She looked at Donnie with a sad smile.

"So what?" Donnie countered. "And how did you know?"

"I process the personnel cards," she explained. "You claimed no dependents and ever since I've first seen you, there's been unhappiness in your face.”

"Maybe I have a roomate," Donnie said craftily.

"Do you?" She waited tensely for the answer.

"No." Donnie looked blearily in her direction. "What's your name?" she asked irrelevantly.

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