1B The woman sitting next to me in 1B has burn marks on her hands. As she sleeps, I let myself stare trying to figure out if it was a cooking accident or... She boarded quietly, but her eyes grazed med with malignant anger. She is awake now. I turn away, look out the window. Reaching for the phone the sleeve of her business jacket lifts, revealing a neat row of round burn marks all up her forearm. Was she hurt as a child? Was it a late husband, mean boyfriend, crazy sex fetish? I try to catch the title of the book she's reading for clues. It's just some mystery novel. I can tell I'm making her uneasy. I go back to my writing. She looks so hard -- like a lot of women in L. A. Dark secrets hunting her insides, softness sucked out, a deep sadness in her eyes. Jewel Kilcher -- ╭─────────────────────────╮ │"To spell out the obvious is often to call it in │ │question." -- Eric Hoffer │ ╰──────◇ http://darkshadows.org/~skyhawk/ ◇╯ --

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