sevenAnother morning. Robin was late again. Pee. Lukewarm coffee. Toothbrush. No woman in the cracked mirror. Cold shower. Hershey bar. Down the stairs. Bobby Sun and Blues Dragon blasted out the blues—“If you see my little red rooster ...” Out the steel door. She locked it.
Robin made a right, turned her head into the wind and dashed up Natoma. The Troll sat huddled up by a forest green dumpster. When he saw her, he stumbled to his feet and put up his fists.
“So when the motherfucker come up to me I hit the bastard. What-d’-ya think of that? What-d’-ya think?”
What else can desperate people do, Robin thought, but drink fortified wine?
When she stepped off the curb a blue and yellow Chronicle delivery van doing about sixty, blasted its horn. She pulled back just in time, and then she r
