He found her staring at his roommate, who was dressed in linen wrappings.
On the coffee table in front of him was an open bottle of cheap rum and two overturned bottles of Boone’s Farm. On the floor between the table and the couch the man sat in we’re several crumpled, empty beer cans.
There was still a little of the rum in the tumbler Butch’s roommate held, and he was staring at the booze with swollen, watery eyes before turning his sad gaze at Butch, in his obligatory werewolf makeup, and then turning to Butch’s date, dressed as a stylish, childish witch.
“Wendy,” said Butch, “I’d like you to meet my rheumy rummy roomy, the mummy. Ramses, this is Wendy, the good little witch.”