to smuther their grandchildren.
Her spit absorbed into the bottles.
Taking in her sorrow.

It's way past dark-
and the busses don't run.
She stands on the street-
in the wrong kind of neighborhood.
She waves to the taxi's with her $10 bill-
Nobody stops.  She is alone-
In the wrong kind of neighborhood.

The people curled up by trash cans,
point-
they laugh.
Mumbling words only the devil could have made.
She can't help but hear every word they say-
she's no better than them.

The rich old men drive by-
their thousand dollar cars
smirking and winking in her direction.
She knew why they winked.  Why they smirked.

She was dressed for a posh party,
Her hair flowing with the wind,
Her Boots to her knees
and her heels almost too high to walk.
Her make up-tear stained.
They thought she was cheap.
That'd she'd fake a romance just for a dollar.

But she'd faked enough romances-
the bottles that covered her floor-
her one bedroom apartment
proved just that.

As she walked-almost sprinting,
she blinked away tears.
Grasping her sweater around her chest.
Her fingers now stained cold.
She was down in the dumps-
ready to give into the nights sorrow.

A taxi pulled over.
Without a word she sat.
on the frozen black rubber.
"Where to?" He asked, though secretely
she read his thoughts. 
The way he looked at her-she knew.