She glanced at her watch – he was ten minutes late. Not a great first impression.
She sipped her Chardonnay and watched the beach crowd shuffle by. There were worse places to spend a happy hour alone.
Suddenly, someone slipped into the seat across from her. Average build, baseball cap, jet-black wig and a fake mustache.
“Not quite your profile picture,” she told him.
He nodded, glancing over his left shoulder then right.
“Downside of the business,” he whispered. “It’s the price I pay.”
She bit her tongue. He was in two episodes of a middling show. One line total.
Actors…
The Weekday One Hundred 