I get changed and race out the back door. I should at least say thanks, I know, but I couldn't stand to face them again.

Where do I go from here? Where is there to go? The loft quickly flashed through my mind. I COULD go there, but what was the point? Mark would just try to get me in rehab and I would just end up screwing up yet again and ruining everything. Life can be a bitch sometimes. Back to my bench it is then. It's getting colder. The few hours away from this hell hole have lowered the temperature down to almost 20 degrees. I try to settle myself down comfortably on my bench. Well, as comfortable as one can get on freezing metal bench on a windy New York winter night.

The park has become a ghost town by now. Not that that is all too surprising, between the weather and the crime rate who would want to come out walking? It's so cold. My mind feels like it's numbing up. My thoughts are slowing. Everything is becoming black... I feel boxed in, I want to wake up, but my eyelids won't listen. I try to scream for help, but the words won't come out. Who would come anyways? Who cares about a dried up stripper who broke the only good thing in her life? Black... Everything is black...

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Am I moving?

"MIMI! HOLY SHIT! POOKIEEEEE! OH MY GOD! SHE'S OVER HERE!"

I must be in hell...

"Honey she needs a hospital ASAP!"

Maybe not that sounds like Joanne...I don't want a hospital.. No...

"No, Roger" I surprised myself with that.

"THAT SHITHEAD"

Maureen the drama queen... very fitting title. I may not be able to see Joanne but I just know the exact look on her face right now. She's giving Maureen the "shut-the-fuck-up" face.

"To Roger it is then... shh honey everything is gonna be alright."

And then I am left to blackness again.

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EPILOGE-

So much has changed in the last 48 hours. The "shithead" as Maureen loves me. He told me... well... I guess more of sang it to me? Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore.

He looks so happy right now, and all he is doing is burning what was supposed to be breakfast but now resembles burnt tires.

"WHAT are you staring at?" He is trying to look annoyed but failing completely. "

"Your eyes" I answer simply.