>>10141305Holly walks backstage, and goes straight to her locker. There's no more stolen rum, no more yellow jacket hanging up, no photo of a smiling rookie class in the back of a van. Just a simple pair of keys to a used mistubishi she'd bought off some collector a few days prior and to her new apartment in one of the dodgier parts of Germantown. As she slams shut her locker and shoves her keys into her pocket, something catches her eye. The private locker rooms. Where the main eventers hang out without having to deal with the rest of the shitters on the card.
Holly considers knocking on one of the doors for a moment before shaking her head, spitting on the floor and shoving her keys back into her pocket. Not today. Not yet.