I’m lucky to have a job. Any job, really. Given my history. And my fear of unknown opponents. I’ve got the scars on my neck to explain why. Many women worry about the thinning skin beneath their chin and above their chest. I wouldn’t know. My neck was destroyed long before time could take its toll.
We met in a bar at a time when I despised drinking, due to an allergy more than anything, but craved companionship. I was there for my friends, five of them. It was Mischief Night, the day before Halloween.
I sought the company of others but found myself sitting in a corner watching the crowd dance and sway. Spent the first 40 minutes or so painting my nails, then peeling off the lacquer. The table was painted black and white. Like a checkerboard. While I pondered the color of my nails, a tall
