i should disclose i had a brief encounter with her once- or at least someone i was wholly convinced was her at the time. it was the typical night- me in my leopard print G with a head full of V, three bottles of night train later. her sitting on the couch. i moved in and don't remember much after except that i chafed very quickly. she never spoke a word which was more than fine. when i came to the next morning she was still there, except i saw her for what she really was- a blonde wig on an old catcher's mit, glazed in some sort of lubricant. it made me nervous, i figured maybe it was a sign, but what was it telling me? time to slow down.
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