She is the kind of girl who choose to be your friend only after she calculated the diameter of your spotlight. Her face told the tale of a happy, uncomplicated life. I could detect no tragedy there. How could those years suddenly seem insignificant & dream-like? The words that hurt more than any other knife in the world. I am all the things that I deserve. This simple prayer has been said for seven years, & so the words are robotically gibbered. What it left in its wake was a ugly, spin art mess. There's the long morning when you don't have to look at your watch. There's the smell of sun-warmed dog shit & damp earth. There's a child in muddied waterproofs whose tongue darts out around his ice-cream moustache. The man has stripes of facial hair streaked across his cheeks. The tip of his nose is raw & pinkish. The rest of his skin is fluorescent, chicken nugget white. Big crystal clear teardrops roll from his eyes & drop like aquatic bombs onto his jacket. Twenty five years worth of tears seemed to have been stored up & were now desperate for escape; out they came in a salty exodus.