she just looks, half-believing…a cigarette dangling, she’s half- insane, looking for an out; she’s hard, she’s scared, she’s been fooled, taken, abused, used, over- used… but, under all that, to me she’s the flower, I see her as she was before she was ruined by the lies: theirs and hers. to me, she’s new again as I am new: we have a chance together. I walk over and fill her drink: “you got class, doll, you’re not like the others…” she likes that and I like it too because to make a thing true all you’ve got to do is believe.
