Methadone and an Egg McMuffin for breakfast. She pretends it's really orange drink, and someone laced it without her knowing, it takes the guilt out of the habit. Donning her parka, December peeks out of her igloo into the desert. The sands are surprisingly teeming with life under the azure sky. No - it's lemon yellow, emerald, absolute black, blue again.
Mushroom clouds bloom in the distance.
An old Ford Escort looms on the horizon, reminding her of the street, of the tenuous city life. Buildings loom on the sidewalks, people appear with contorted faces, smiling the grin of shock and horror. There's no logic, no method to the madness. That's what she thrives upon. Cheap nail polish flakes off her bitten fingernails.