The corner of Church Street. But both halves look the same. Hue, and color, quite similar. Tho one a bit closer. And the other half closer. To the nested lakes of Blackwood. Where crooked, rusty-nail docks. Dangle over the dark shimmer. Estelle sits on the wood-porch rocker. With one leg folded under. I can hear her smoky voice crackling. All the way from the corner. Stabbing at the blowing trash.

So many doctors appointments, having to deal with the DA, plus court with the IPhone I stole.

The real beginning of the end. On May 3rd, 2010. Then they walked right passed me. I was a big girl but I wish someone shielded me from seeing her. I could see the outline of her face and nose through the sheet and broke down. That moment will stick with me for the rest of my life.

Is this a dream within a dream,. I wondered at my Twitter-screen. Is this the straw that breaks the back of every girl who, looking back, will give up, stop making a fuss, get back to the laundry and the back of the bus. Is this the start of the next holocaust. Is this my gender, biting the dust,. The glass has not broken. But what do they mean? Is this the start of the new show on screen? Just sit back bite your tongue or scream.