For the first few weeks of her 'death' she stays hidden under multicolor scarfs and black sunglasses that seem to make her disappear (just what she was going for).
Every-day and I mean every-day (with out her, what is there? Pies and untouchable dogs) she comes in after another night in the same place, that now seems so small, with out laying one of my deadly fingers anywhere near her.
And all I want to do (besides kiss the living day lights out of her) is rip them off at the risk of touching her and see those warming eyes.
I don't have to say one single word or even stammer out a sentence that would have gone along the lines of 'take of-ff-ff your sun-sunglasses, p-please?' because she has slipped them under the scarf that is covering everything but those eyes.
"Now that's much better, now what's on today's menu?"