Clarisse had herself captivated by the milling crowds on the streets. The glistening wall of billboards slid behind them in the haze of the blurry window screen. She saw the endless queue of vehicles tailing each other in one lane. They had shut the other lane down because of the river streaming through them. The cacophony of honking and cussing submerged the seventh Avenue. It didn’t bother Clarisse at all, for all she knew was she was in her mental wonderland.
It was a place she was ridiculously fond of. She had an awareness of being engrossed in herself. Someday it would be the end of her. But she never really cared. She enjoyed being there, cooking all the stories of “would’ves” and “had beens.” Sometimes the inner world of hers fascinated her, and other times it tormented her. Mostly
