I get the feeling that one day I'll be listed as one of her known associates. She'll be gone and I'll be the one with whom the police negotiates. She used to be so innocent, so kind and worried for the world, she believed in demons, ghosts and the white-washed Jesus with the golden curls.
Now she's scattered, unkempt and worried about cash. She's worried that the crumbling cliff she's wandered onto might suddenly collapse. She's flaking and discasing, peeling and desquamating, her whole body's disintegrating because she thinks there's nothing left worth saving.