The Rotten Apple's neon sign flickered above the crowd of regulars marching into the comedy club. Soon, they sat with booze in one hand and stale pretzels in the other as they waited for the show to begin.

Nora waited backstage. She fidgeted with her prosthetic arm as more experienced comedians mingled like a pack of hyenas waiting to set out on a hunt. Laughter came as naturally as breathing to them even when they weren't on stage.

"First time, eh?" said a voice rich with unspoken jokes.

Nora's prosthetic creaked as she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Yup," she croaked. God, why was her throat so dry? She gulped down a shot of tequila.

A smile peeked through the man's tangled beard. "Don't worry, gettin' on stage is the hard part. Once you do that, they won't be able to get you off no matter how much they beg!"

"I suppose all anyone needs to do to get you off is threaten to take a weed wacker to that beard of yours?"

He clapped her on the back with a chuckle. "See? You'll do fine."

Witty comebacks were all well and good, but could she really handle a full set?

The crowd's laughter ebbed and flowed from chortling to full-blown guffaws and everything in between as her turn drew nearer. When the bearded man returned from his set, breathless braying echoed behind him. "Warmed 'em up for you," he said as Nora made her way to the stage.

The crowd fell silent. The buzzing of the comedy club's sign and the faint tinkling of ice cubes against glass failed to drown out Nora's hammering heart.

"So how about those drinks?" she stammered as she stared at the sea of spectators. It had never looked this nerve-wracking from the other side of the microphone. "Or should I call them eats? They're more ice than alcohol."

Nothing. Not even a pitying smile, although the bartender did give her a nasty look.

"Is it just me, or should I have brought a jacket? This is quite a chilly reception."

"Maybe you should get cold feet!" yelled a frat boy from the back row.

"Maybe you should chill," she whispered into the microphone.

Nobody heard her over the deafening crack of her prosthetic hitting the stage.

"Dang it!" She fiddled with the still unfamiliar plastic. "Come on, I could really use a hand."

Light chuckles peppered the air.

A grin spread across Nora's face. "A great drink costs an arm and a leg, but I could only afford an okay drink and pretzel crumbs."

Even Mr. Cold Feet was smiling now.

"Don't ask me if they were worth it. I'm stumped!"

A noise halfway between a seal's bark and a gasp burst from Mr. Cold Feet as he pounded the table. There it was: her first laugh.

"Thank you, thank you!" The adrenaline of her performance rose to Nora's cheeks as she waved goodbye. "See you next week!"