It’s Just Me

Somewhere beneath my skin I shivered. I massaged the tremor – worrying my finger-pinched lips back and forth. Rain gusted across the tarpaulin above me and the many holes wolfed the wind through to my bare skin. February was no month for bare skin.

Just an hour before I had been cocooned in lights that spoke of sweetness and love. Laughter from close by had enveloped me like Jacuzzi bubbles and before me – conversation like a mouth full of hot buttery toast comforted my mind and swelled my so...