Light hits the shards of a broken perfume bottle as the sun rises high over the horizon as a pink misty fog swirls around the remnants of a life only half lived. A life only half lived because of wrong decisions based on misconceptions and rumors and misinformation. Empty coke cans smelling of rum and cigarettes are strewn about the back alley way where she throws her garbage out her third story windows in a nonchalant manner that few can pull off without seeming to be lazy. Pink lip gloss tubes and half empty notebooks full of scribbles on the “Communist Manifesto,” “Beowulf”, and “The Anti-federalist Papers” show her intelligence that would otherwise not be known to a passer by on the street. If one were to dig deeper into the rubbish of her life they would find a plethora of womanhood hiding amongst witty sarcasm and a box of black hair dye.