Dry

In Los Angeles to shoot the beer commercial, Burroughs kills time in his hotel room before meeting the client. The free time triggers a craving for a drink, and he looks for ways to fill the hours. Gazing at himself in the “wealth of mirrors” (221) in his room, his vanity takes over, the shallowness of LA rubbing off on him like a grease stain. He hates the city but at the same time wants to be one of its power brokers, one of its beautiful people.

The next day, while Burroughs and Greer wait at an intersection, a bus runs a red light, a message in the LED display reading, “HELP… CALL POLICE…” (223). Greer mutters, “Oh, shit,” pulls out her cellphone, and calls Sharon from the office, reminding her about bus billboards for the beer campaign. When Burroughs chastises her for not calling the police, she responds, “I’m not an alcoholic like you. Getting all this free therapy and having all these personal transformations all the time. I’m just a regular person living a regular life” (224). Later, sitting by the pool, they spat over the bus incident but soon

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