Bar Fly At Jewel Box Tavern lights are always dim so you can’t look closely. Wearing stiletto heels, she traipses along followed by billows of cheap perfume. Dressed in a second skin of electric blue velveteen covered with silver glitz. She looks for a mark, some clown who carries thick wads of cash and a stash of coke. Tapping the shoulder of the willing joker with her long lacquered fingernails. First she must meet him in the back alley to pay up with her pound of flesh. Showing its age, her face is coated by pastes, crèmes, thick rouge, blazing red lipstick. Her brown eyes encrusted with liners, mascara and shadow revealed a certain sadness, Secreted in the dark and dank women’s room, she snorts that magical white powder. Nothing matters now. There is no despair only this embrace of bliss.